De Oppresso Liber
by writteninhaste
Summary: Crime is rising at X. The crimes are connected but there isn't a suspect. All evidence points to a secretive group within X, but are they criminals, or do they deal in a different form of justice?
1. Act 1: Eagles of Liberty

**Fillmore!**

**Today's Episode: ****De Oppresso Liber**

**Act 1: Eagles of Liberty**

"Freeze. X Middle School Safety Patrol." The voice of safety patrol officer Ingrid Third rang out across the deserted hallways of X. Before her stood a hooded figure. Dressed in various shades of grey, which blended almost perfectly with the colours of the hall, the perpetrator stood, face hidden in shadows, one hand wrapped tightly around the handles of a backpack. As Ingrid moved forward, the suspect, threw his arms through the straps on the bag and turned, bolting down the corridor. Ingrid reached quickly for her radio as she took off after the suspect.

"Fillmore. Our suspect is headed toward to the school fields, you can head him off at the south entrance of D Block." Ingrid picked up her pace, gaining on the perpetrator, trusting her partner would be there in time. She rounded the corner in time to see fellow safety patrol officer Cornelius Fillmore, skid into the suspect's path.

As Fillmore moved to apprehend the suspect, the crook delivered a quick sharp punch to Fillmore's midsection, before hooking a leg behind his knees and yanking. Fillmore grabbed for the suspect as he fell, attempting to stop any attempt at escape, but with no luck. As Ingrid closed in on the pair, the thief executed a series of manoeuvres with expert precision, causing Fillmore to fall heavily onto his back. Seeing Ingrid nearly upon them, the suspect grabbed a canister from his bag, yanked the pin and threw it onto the floor. The hallway was soon swamped in a cloud of smoke, which left Ingrid gasping for air and reaching blindly around her. Out of pure chance, her hand made contact with Fillmore's. She latched onto, staying that way until the smoke cleared enough for her to see clearly again.

"Dawg Ingrid, I thought we had them." Fillmore's voice sounded slightly rough from the smoke fumes. Gingerly he got to his feet, favouring his left side.

"We'll get them next time." Ingrid's voice belied the confidence of her words. This was the fourth time the same thief had given them the slip and Folsom was beginning to increase her threats of turning the Safety Patrol Headquarters into a massage parlour. Crime at X had steadily been rising over the past few months. Word was, that there was a new player on the underground crime rings – one who had a finger into every pie. Gambling, the dealing of contraband substances and the small arms trade – which flourished in the lower circles of X's society – had all seen a spike in activity. Someone was making a name for themselves, and they were making it fast. Rumour had it, that this new comer was smarter, quicker, and more ruthless than any criminal X had seen before. Bending down, Ingrid snapped on a pair of gloves, and picked up the now empty smoke canister. "We'd better get this to Tehama. Maybe she can tell us more about it."

Fillmore nodded, and followed his partner towards Safety Patrol HQ. The hallways were quiet as the pair wound their way through the school. By this time, most of the student body had either gone home or were involved in their after-school activities. Thinking over what had just happened, Fillmore sighed to himself. This robbery had been the latest in a string of crimes, which had the Safety Patrol baffled. Though each crime had, on the surface seemed unrelated, the MO had been the same, as had the description of the thief. Each time, the perpetrator had acted with exacting precision, dodging the safety patrol and making a clean get-away. The crimes always occurred after the final bell had run, and the thefts were always petty things. It was almost as though the evasion of arrest was more important to the perp, than the actual theft.

Feeling slightly dejected, the crime-fighting duo entered the Safety Patrol HQ. Tehama, Anza and O'Farrell were all seated at their desks, Vallejo was visible in his office, pouring over a file and drinking down coco. Seeing the looks on their faces, Tehama started up from her desk, "What happened?"

"He got away." Fillmore said, moving over to his desk, and sitting down slightly more heavily than usual. He was still favouring his injured side. The punch he had received had been hard and efficient, designed to disable an opponent with the minimum contact but with the fastest speed. Ingrid brought the evidence over to Tehama's desk. Seeing it, the young forensics expert pulled on a pair of gloves and began examining the canister. Not looking up from her work, she spoke over her shoulder to Fillmore.

"So you're sure it's a guy now?" There had been some debate amongst the Safety Patrol as to the gender of their suspect. Based on height, most had reasoned on the suspect being male, but Tehama had argued that it could be a tall girl. The speed and agility demonstrated indicated someone with a lighter build as well, pushing Anza to also vote female.

Fillmore nodded, wincing as his ribs and torso reminded him they were bruised. "I wasn't sure until he hit me. No offence Tehama, but I don't think a girl could punch that hard, not without some serious weight training at any rate."

Tehama nodded, as she continued to peer at the evidence, her highlighted bangs falling into her eyes. "None taken. Female criminals are less likely to resort to physical violence, when cornered by an authority figure, than male suspects are anyway. Women in general, are more likely to employ passive methods of evasion, such as visual or auditory distractions, or persuasive reasoning. The fact that you got hit alone, points towards a male perpetrator, regardless of the strength of the blow."

Fillmore stared at her, "Please tell me you and Ingrid haven't been attending those high school psychology lectures again?"

Tehama shrugged, as Ingrid glanced over at her partner, a small smirk tracing her lips. There was a vaguely pained expression on his face, though whether that was from the punch or the mention of voluntary extra school, Ingrid couldn't tell. "What? We have to do something on our days off." She knew Fillmore, couldn't understand why she and Tehama spent their free time studying something new, but it was a subject that fascinated both of them, so they attended the lectures whenever they could.

Leaving Tehama to work, Ingrid strolled back to her desk to begin typing up her report. She managed to write the entire report and add it the case file, without hearing anything else from Tehama. Frowning slightly, she moved back to where her friend was working. The force's main CSI was normally much faster on results than this, but seeing her scowl, Ingrid guessed that this evidence had her stumped. She felt Fillmore come up behind her as she gazed down at Tehama's work. The Asian scientist was currently peering at a series of test-tube results and frowning.

"You got any news for us Tehama?" Fillmore asked, leaning against a spare desk as he watched her work. He was moving without nearly any stiffness now, having sat for the last half hour with an ice-pack pressed to his ribs. Anza and O'Farrell, noticing Tehama's lack of usual quick-fire response walked over to join them.

Karen sighed, and placed the test tube back in the rack on her desk. Normally, she would have gone to the lab to do such work, but due to an escape attempt made by the pet locusts, the labs were shut for the day. Slumping down in her chair, she snapped off her gloves, before rubbing a hand tiredly over her eyes.

"Yes and no, Fillmore. I can tell you the chemical composition of the smoke screen the suspect used, but I can't tell you where they got it from, or even what brand it was. It's like nothing I've ever seen before."

Ingrid frowned, puzzled, "What do you mean?" She settled on the unused desk next to Fillmore, resting most of her weight against her arms.

"Normally, when kids use a smoke screen, they'll use the type they can easily get their hands on, the type sold at joke shops or stores selling theatrical props. There are several mainstream brands, each readily available in any high street shop. Those screens are often coloured (red, yellow, purple, green etc) and are composed of potassium chlorate, sodium bicarbonate, lactose and a dye. This canister however, has residue of hexachloroethane and zinc. I've never seen a screen which uses that mixture of chemicals before. I don't even know where you'd buy something like this."

"You don't." Anza's voice filled the silence which had followed Tehama's words. He was scowling down at the canister on Tehama's desk, and worrying his lower lip

between his teeth.

"What do you know man?" Fillmore asked, looking over at his fellow Safety Patrol Officer.

Anza shrugged, "Only this. That, that combination of chemicals in a smoke screen, is not available on the street. It's high grade stuff – the ingredients alone are hard to come by, and its never been manufactured into a product before – at least not one you can buy."

Ingrid crossed her arms over her chest, "What are you getting at Anza?"

The young man pushed his hands further into his pockets. "It's only a rumour, but word on the street is, that one of X's clubs has been working on producing that kind of technology, for their own private enterprise. I heard about when I was pulling that undercover beat last week. They're not planning on sharing with the general public, but people say that they've produced a heck of a lot of it, along with a lot of other stuff. All sanctioned as well. Word is, Folsum knows about it and has given the go-ahead – all very hush hush, no one supposed to know. But it's just a rumour, so don't quote me on it."

Fillmore, sighed pushing off of the desk, "Thanks Anza."

"No problem." Joseph said, heading back towards his desk. Ingrid's voice stopped him.

"Which club was rumoured to be doing this?"

Anza looked over his shoulder surprised – he hadn't realised he hadn't said, "Oh. The M.S.C.C."


	2. Act 2: Through Knowledge, To The Stars

**Fillmore!**

**Today's Episode: ****De Oppresso Liber**

**Act 2: Through Knowledge, To The Stars**

Fillmore pushed open the doors of X Middle School's library, holding it open long enough for Ingrid to enter the hushed silence. A search of the school's club database on the HQ computers, had produced nothing but frustration for the pair. It had taken Ingrid no more than a minute to find out what M.S.C.C. stood for, but when she tried to open the club's file, she found it had been wiped clean. Most club files, listed slight imperfections: battles for club presidency, slight indiscrepancies over funds, vague membership numbers, but this file had been immaculate. Not one complaint, not one inconstancy – everything was listed and nothing was out of place. It was too good to be true. Ingrid, not trusting that the school records hadn't been tampered with in some way had suggested they come to the library to research the Middle School Cadet Corps, the old-fashioned way.

Making her way swiftly to the large school reference books, kept at the back of the upper levels of the library, Ingrid whispered to her partner "What do you know about this club anyway? I've never heard of them." Silence greeted her question. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw Fillmore frowning, his eyebrows drawn heavily together, eyes hidden behind the reflections on his glasses.

When he still didn't answer, Ingrid prodded further, "Fillmore?"

The African-American boy sighed, slumping against the stacks. He didn't look up until Ingrid placed a concerned hand on his forearm. She felt rather than heard him sigh before he looked at her, "The M.S.C.C., isn't like the other clubs at X Ingrid, they don't let just anyone join. You only get in, if they recruit you – and they recruit from some pretty tough places – underground casinos, crime-rings, you name it. They spoke to me once, back when I was a thug, but I turned them down. Over the years, they've recruited some of X's most hardened criminals. The club itself is clean, those they recruit, leave a life of crime. But Ingrid, some of the people they've recruited over the years have been into some pretty awful stuff. They bring a massive variety of skills to the M.S.C.C. – lock picking, getting past security systems, evading arrest. And then you have those who were brought in straight up – the ones who were book smart, or great athletes. The ones they recruit Ingrid, leave their old lives behind them. Once you join the M.S.C.C., that's all you are – a member of the M.S.C.C.. Bullies who join stop beating people up, star school athletes drop out of the teams. The leaders of that club, own those recruits Ingrid. It's one of the reasons I didn't join when they offered – back then, I didn't want nobody telling me what to do."

Ingrid's lips curled into a crooked smile, "What's changed?" she asked lightly.

Her question startled a laugh out of her partner, and helped to lighten the sombre mood that had settled around them. Fillmore was known on the force, for his inability to obey direct orders. He watched as Ingrid opened the large school registry she'd pulled from one of the bottom shelves. Laying it open on one of the reference tables, she quickly began to flick through its pages, looking for the entry on the M.S.C.C.

"Got it." Ingrid said in a hushed voice. She swivelled the book around to show Fillmore, pointing to the relevant entry. "It says here, that the club was one of the first started at X, dating back almost to the founding. It's working principle is to 'help the student's of X realise their full physical, mental and personal potential through vigorous and intensive training'. She spun the book back around to get a look at the following text.

"Crackers. Fillmore, take a look at this." Curious, the young African-American moved until he was reading over his partner's shoulder. Tucked into the pages of the school reference book, was an article that looked at though it had been ripped from the school newspaper.

"Though it is widely believed that those who are recruited by the M.S.C.C, leave their old lives behind them, this is only true of approximately 25 of cadets. These cadets, known as 'ghosts' become invisible within the walls of X Middle School, they come and go unseen or unnoticed by both the student body and the teachers and are considered to be the elite of the M.S.C.C. These elite, run some of the most top-secret and covert operations in Middle School history, sometimes collaborating with other cadet organisations to perform operations which, whilst the student body knows nothing of, are entirely sanctioned by the higher ups. However, it is not the existence of the ghosts which is troubling, it is the other cadets who should really worry us. The 75 who keep up their regular lives, who blend in with the rest of us. Raising money for clubs and taking part in events. Signing up for year-book and try outs. It is these students, who are a danger to the true integrity of X. Whilst the 'ghosts' undermine the democracy, these others undermine our individuality. Without us knowing, these cadets influence the lives of many here at X Middle School, exerting unrecognised power and control over those they claim as friends. Through subterfuge and trickery the M.S.C.C. effectively controls X. Is it right for any one group to have this much authority? They have permeated nearly every part of X's society and they will not stop until they rule it all. At the next student council meeting I will be petitioning for the full disclosure of all M.S.C.C members and their objectives, and I ask you the students of X to join me in this endeavour to take back our school as our own." The article was signed Greg Mendez, next to it was a photograph of the reporter himself.

Fillmore muttered the name to himself under his breathe, "Dawg, why does that name seem familiar?" he unclipped the radio from his belt. "Yo, Tehama, can you do me a background check on a Greg Mendez?"

Tehama's voice crackled through the radio, "Sure Fillmore, gimme a few minutes."

Ingrid regarded her partner, "You got something Fillmore?"

Fillmore shrugged, "I don't know. Maybe." They were interrupted by Tehama.

"Fillmore, I got the scoop on your Greg Mendez. He worked for the examiner, pegged for being the next top political reporter. Just over three months ago, he wrote an article for the paper, it got as far as being published but for some reason it was suppressed at the last moment. Mendez resigned in protest, but the whole thing was hushed up. Someone didn't want attention being drawn to the article. Whatever is was."

Ingrid locked eyes with Fillmore, raising an eyebrow. He pressed the talk button on his radio, "Thanks Tehama."

"No problem. Tehama out"

Ingrid removed the newspaper article and folded it into her pocket. "Do you think we should talk to Greg Mendez – he might be connected to this in some way."

"Maybe, but we're going to have to leave it till tomorrow. It's getting late – there's no-one left at the school except the safety patrol."

Ingrid nodded, "So first thing tomorrow then?"

"Yeah, first thing tomorrow."

The blaring of his alarm clock woke Fillmore the next morning. Rolling over, he stayed looking up at the ceiling of his bedroom. His dreams had been plagued with visions of hooded thieves running through the rooms of his house, leaving behind clouds of smoke. He had almost caught one of the thieves when the safety patrol had marched through wearing uniforms and carrying flags. Reaching out to Ingrid, he had pulled her round by the shoulder, but when she faced him he realised it wasn't Ingrid, it was Malika instead.

Scrubbing a hand over his eyes, he rolled out of bed, padding towards the bathroom on bare feet. As he let the hot water of the shower wash over him, Fillmore thought about the case. He knew he had heard the name Greg Sanchez before, and not in relation to the newspaper – he just couldn't remember where. His mind drifted to thoughts of the M.S.C.C. He remembered when they had first approached him, back when he was a delinquent. He remembered the cold, hard efficiency with which the interactions had taken place. All questions blocked, the sales pitch delivered with all that was wanted being a simple yes or no choice. Join us or walk away. He'd walked away. He sighed. He knew he hadn't been entirely straight with Ingrid the other day, and he didn't know why he just didn't tell her, but something was holding him back. It hadn't just been the fact that he didn't want to take orders, which had stopped him joining up back then – it was the look in the other cadets' eyes. If you looked into Sonney's eyes, you saw anger. Anger at the system, anger at everyone else. If you looked into Ingrid's you saw passion. The strive to do the right thing, and to give people justice. But there had been nothing in their eyes. Just cold, blank, empty nothingness. He shuddered at the memory. Being angry was fine. Wanting justice was better, but having nothing worried him – he didn't want to turn out like that.

Turning off the water, he dried himself off. Looking at his watch he realised he'd have to hurry if he was going to meet Ingrid for their walk to school. Rushing through his morning routine he said a hurried goodbye to his parents before grabbing a bagel off the counter and heading out. He ate as he walked, still going over the case so far in his mind. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a rectangular piece of card – 1 inch by 3 inches – on it was written a cell phone number. He must have read the number a hundred times, knew it by heart. His fist closed around the slip of paper, before shoving it back into his pocket. Did he really want to make that call?

He was so caught up in thought that he didn't notice Ingrid waiting for him, until her voice sounded from his side, "Penny for your thoughts?"

Startled he looked up. There was Ingrid, dressed in her usual ensemble of black on black chic, the laces of her boots trailing and her lips coloured a deep blood red. He vaguely wondered why she never seemed to wear a jacket, but dismissed the thought as she fell into step beside him.

"I was just thinking: aside from the lead on Greg Mendez, the only other evidence we have points to the M.S.C.C. But rumours and speculation aren't a lot to go on, and I don't think that these people are just going to open up and talk to us – even if we can find them." The M.S.C.C, had no listed HQ, looking for them at X would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.

They were nearing the front of the school now. The large front doors of X were standing wide open, waiting to admit the many students that went there. The two officers made their way swiftly towards Safety Patrol HQ to check in with Vallejo, before navigating the halls towards Greg Mendez's homeroom. Walking in, they saw the boy in question seated at a desk by the window, a reporter's notebook was lying open before him, and he was idly drawing random patterns on the paper. Walking over to him, the two officers drew their badges.

"Greg Mendez? Safety Patrol Officers Fillmore and Third, we'd like to ask you a few questions if we may?" Fillmore quickly showed his badge to Mendez before sliding it back into his pocket. The ex-reporter looked up at them balefully, before motioning for them to take a seat.

"Of course officers, what can I help you with?"

Ingrid pulled out the newspaper article from where she's kept it in her bag. Pushing it across to table towards him she leaned in and lowered her voice. "We wanted to ask you about the M.S.C.C."

Fillmore watched with interest, as Mendez's face tightened, a muscle in his cheek beginning to twitch. "What do you want to know?" His voice was strained, as though the tension suddenly coursing through his body, was constricting his airways.

Fillmore crossed his arms over his chest, eying the nervous student. "We want to know whatever it is you know. What made you write that article man?"

Mendez hunched over, letting his hair hang down to cover his face. "I was a reporter, I wanted the truth, I wanted other people to know the truth. I still want people to know the truth."

Ingrid reached over placing a hand on Greg's forearm, "So tell us the truth. Tell us about the M.S.C.C." Fillmore stiffened watching Mendez place his hand over Ingrid's. What was with the touchy-feely routine? Ingrid wasn't like that. Re-focusing on what Mendez was saying, Fillmore made a mental note to ask his partner about it when he got a chance. Greg was talking in a low voice.

"Four months ago my friend, Matt Nemis, transferred to a different school. Matt had always been a bit of a loner, but he was smart – he found solutions to problems other people hadn't even considered, and he was observant. If he left a room and you moved something, he'd know the second he came back. He saw things differently, you know? I thought he was happy here at X, I mean he never had that many friends, but he did have them. Then all of a sudden, he says he's transferring. Doesn't feel like he fits in – wants to try something new." Greg paused, taking a deep breath. "I know what you're thinking, students transfer out of X all the time, we have the highest student turnover rate of any school in the country. But the thing is, I don't think Matt left. I swear I saw him after he had transferred out. Thing was, he wasn't dressed like he usually did. He was wearing a uniform. At first I thought I was mistaken because Matt had never wanted to conform – he didn't strike me as the uniform type. But I know it was him officers, I saw his face. So I started to investigate, did some digging. I couldn't find out anything definite about Matt; I never saw him again. But I did find out about a club known as the X Middle School Cadet Corps – or the M.S.C.C. They're just one branch of a _huge_ organisation, they have clubs at every Middle School in the country. It's a massive intelligence network, touches nearly everything." Greg sighed, and shook his hair out of his eyes, fixing his gaze on a point outside, "When I started my investigation, I was asked to drop my inquiries. Then when I didn't I received another request, more forceful this time. I refused. Surprisingly no further requests were made, I realise now, that they were just waiting to deliver a crushing blow."

Ingrid nodded in understanding, "Suppressing the article at the last minute, just when you thought you had one."

Mendez nodded, and turned his attention back on the two officers. "They know where to hit to hurt you most. I thought I still had a chance, thought that if I resigned in protest, people would pay attention to the reason why. But it didn't happen that way. I resigned, and no one noticed. I tried to draw attention to it on my own and got a visit from one of the cadet commanders – a Major Adelie Johnson she _strongly _recommended that I stop trying to draw attention to myself." Greg sighed, gazing down at his desk. "The M.S.C.C is not a group to be trifled with officers. That's all the information I can give you. Anything else I learnt is in that article. I never learned their true objectives or the location of their HQ. The entire organisation is a ghost network – you'll never find them if they don't want you to."

The bell rang as he finished speaking, forcing Ingrid and Fillmore to make their way back to the Safety Patrol HQ. Fillmore scuffed a foot along the floor as he walked. Looking over at him, Ingrid noticed the slight frown on his face. She was about to ask him about, when Vallejo stepped out of the door to HQ. Upon seeing his two best officers, he called out.

"Ingrid, Fillmore. Folsom wants an update on the case. Go see her in her office." Fillmore winced and Ingrid groaned silently. Visiting Folsom's office was never fun, and only ever tolerable at the end of a case, once the perpetrator had been caught.

Making an about face, the two walked swiftly back in the direction they had come, navigating the halls until they stood outside Folsom's office. They had barely knocked, before they were ushered into the Principle's office. Folsom sat behind her large oak desk, glaring at the two students entering the room. With a curt gesture, she motioned for them to sit in the chairs opposite her desk. Vice Principle Raycliff, was standing stiffly at attention to her left.

Wearily, Ingrid and Fillmore, sat down in the two hard backed chairs Folsom had indicated. They waited in silence for a few minutes waiting for the Principle to request an update. They both knew better than to just start talking when Folsom looked as though she would gladly throw their badges out the nearest window.

"Well?" Eventually she spoke. This one word was enough of an invitation to start talking. Fillmore decided to start by running over the case history – maybe if he could get the Principle to understand the nearly impossible nature of the case, she'd be more sympathetic. He wasn't hopeful.

"Over the last few months, several thefts have taken place within X: the art club's shipment of watercolour tablets, the completed answer sheets to a pop science quiz, the macaroni from the Cafetorium and the latest, flyers for the drama club's latest performance. There is nothing to connect these crimes, other than the thief himself. We believe, that these crimes are being committed so that the perpetrator can make a name for himself, build a reputation. The only piece of evidence we have so far, points towards a club known as the Middle School Cadet Corps. We'll be investigating them next."

At the mention of the Cadet Corps, the colour drained from Principle Folsom's face. The tension lines already accenting her eyes and mouth deepened, her grip on the pencil in her hand tightening. She narrowed her eyes at the pair, who braced themselves for an outburst. Ingrid subconsciously turned her body towards Fillmore, in an automatic show of support.

"I asked you here today, for an update on your progress. And what do you give me? Things that I already know." Folsom's voice was calm, pleasant, nearly sickly sweet. She was very, very angry. "You have had three months to solve this case and instead you are chasing an organisation that does not exist. The M.S.C.C is nothing more than a myth."

Ingrid straightened, surprised, "But Principle Folsom, the M.S.C.C. is listed in both the online school database and the text archives."

Principle Folsom, sat back heavily in her chair, contemplating the two students in front of her. "Well," she said, "I see you've done your homework. How unfortunate." She sat up, leaning forward to clasp her hands on the desk. "Since this is the case, I'll be honest with you. The M.S.C.C. _does_ exist, but they have nothing whatsoever to do with this case. The cadets of this school are the epitome of honour and duty and what's more, is they are untouchable. I do not want to here about you investigating the M.S.C.C, I do not want to hear that you have even mentioned the name. From the second you step out of this office, you will leave the members of the M.S.C.C. _alone_ and concentrate your efforts on finding the _real_ perpetrator. Do I make myself clear?"

Fillmore and Ingrid sighed, "Yes Ma'am."

Folsom smiled, "Good. Now get out of here."

The two safety patrol officers rose, and left, shutting the door behind them. Once they had left, Principle Folsom picked up her phone.

Ingrid leaned against one of the trees in the X orchard, looking worriedly at her partner. "Now what? Folsom's basically closed the case. The M.S.C.C was our only lead. But now, instead of them simply being nearly impossible to trace, we've also been forbidden from trying." She stared off at the distant buildings of the school.

Fillmore's lips quirked in a wry smile. "That doesn't mean we're not going to."

His words drew Ingrid attention back to him, "Fillmore?"

"Folsom may have forbidden us from investigating the M.S.C.C, but she didn't say anything about asking for their help."

Ingrid frowned, "I see where you're going. Ask for their help, and use the connection to try and gather evidence. But Fillmore, how are we supposed to ask for help from a group we can't contact."

Fillmore smiled grimly, "Leave that to me, I think I have a way."


	3. Act 3: Of Their Own Accord

**Fillmore!**

**Today's Episode: ****De Oppresso Liber**

**Act 3: Of Their Own Accord**

Laying on his bed, Fillmore watched as the shadows on his ceiling lengthened with the setting sun. With the fingers of his right hand he continuously flipped the plain white business card he kept in his pocket. Beside him, lay the cordless phone he'd taken from the kitchen. Glancing down at it, he watched as the last hints of the dying light reflected off its surface. With one last flip of the card in his hand, he grabbed the phone and quickly dialled. One ring, two rings, and a click as someone on the other end of the line picked up. There was silence, but Fillmore knew who was listening.

"Here's the deal. You help the Safety Patrol with their investigation, get Folsom off their backs and I'll keep my end of our original arrangement." He could have elaborated, replayed old memories, but there was no need. They both knew what he was talking about.

There was a moment's pause, and then a voice sounded from the other end of the line – clear, cold and female. Fillmore remembered that voice. "You are hardly in a position to be making demands Officer Fillmore. Without our help the Safety Patrol will fail to solve the case and be disbanded. And then where will you be?" There was a level of intonation, a hesitation, that belied the surety of the words.

Fillmore smirked, "Au contraire mon ami. The way I see it, you either do things my way, or my partner and I bring you down from the outside. With or without the backing of the Safety Patrol."

"You're partner. Officer Ingrid Third." It wasn't a question, but there was a sense of contemplation in the way they said Ingrid's name which set alarm bells ringing for Fillmore.

"Leave her out of this." He had to force himself not to shout the words. Too late he realised what he had done. Drawing attention to himself was okay, reminding them of the safety Patrol was fine but he hadn't wanted to bring Ingrid to the attention of the M.S.C.C.

A low chuckle resonated down the phone, causing tension to collect down Fillmore's spine. "Very well. We agree to your terms." Though still indistinguishable, the speaker's voice was heavy with amusement. "We look forward to speaking with Officer Third." Laughter was the last thing Fillmore heard before he slammed his phone down onto the call end button.

Swearing under his breath, Fillmore threw the phone down onto the end of his bed. Picking up the discarded business card, he glared at it before shoving it viciously back into his pocket. It wasn't supposed to have gone down like that. Ingrid wasn't supposed to get involved, outside of the Safety Patrol. Now she was on the M.S.C.C.'s radar. Why did he have to make that call?

Even as he asked himself the question, he realised he knew the answer. Because it was the only way. The investigation would have stalled without extra help and if the crimes weren't solved, Folsom would disband the Safety Patrol. So he'd made the call. He just hoped he didn't regret it.

* * *

Ingrid watched concernedly as Fillmore dropped down heavily into the chair behind his desk. His face was tense, and she thought she could make out dark circles beneath his eyes. When she'd asked what was wrong he'd dodged the question, laughing it off it typical Fillmore fashion. Frowning she turned her attention to the rest of the office. Anza was reviewing witness statements at his desk, Tehama was just entering the office, and O'Farrell had yet to make an appearance. Vallejo should be calling them into his office, right about … 

"Ingrid. Fillmore." Now. "I want to see you in my office."

Pushing back her seat, Ingrid noticed the tension in Fillmore increase. She raised an eyebrow at him, but he ignored the unasked question. Pushing past her, he made his way into the Junior Commissioner's office. Across the room, Anza raised his eyebrows at her. Ingrid shrugged. Fillmore was normally one of the most relaxed people on the force – nothing fazed him, with the exception of talking about his past. Following her partner, she slipped through the door into the office. The blinds were lowered, so it wasn't until she was fully inside the room, that she saw the other person standing there.

Hidden from line of sight of the door, was a girl around her own age. Mahogany coloured hair, shot through with copper and gold was pulled into a smart bun at the nape of her neck. Her hands were clasped behind her back, pulling her shoulder's straight. Looking at her, Ingrid saw she was wearing a uniform. An olive green skirt reached down to her knees, a matching jacket, was buttoned neatly. Looking at her face, Ingrid saw her features were clear and defined. She would have been beautiful if it hadn't been for her eyes: dead and lifeless, the cold dark blue of winter night skies. Ingrid suppressed a shudder, there was something missing from those eyes.

Casting her gaze over to her partner, she was surprised to see Fillmore eyeing her warily. Given his earlier mood she would have expected him to be glaring. Instead, he was leaning against the office wall and looking as though he didn't want to turn his back on the girl. Settling against the wall beside Fillmore, Ingrid watched as Vallejo and his guest settled into two of the available chairs. No one spoke. After a minute of silence, Vallejo volunteered some information.

"Officers Fillmore and Third, meet Cadet Major Adelie Johnson. She's the public liaison officer for the M.S.C.C." Fillmore's gaze flicked once to Vallejo before settling back on Adelie. "She's here to offer the resources of the M.S.C.C. in relation to our case." He added.

Ingrid started surprised. Fillmore just narrowed his eyes.

"Volunteer?" Ingrid asked. She was privately wondering if this had anything to do with her conversation with Fillmore the other day.

Major Johnson smiled, but there was twist to her lips which made it mocking rather than friendly. "Oh yes." She said, "Principle Folsom called Cadet Colonel Lawrence Harrington last night, after she met with you. She informed us that our organisation had come to the attention of the Safety Patrol, in the course of one of their investigations. We wanted a chance to clear up any … misunderstandings that may have occurred. We felt the situation would be resolved with greater efficiency, if we came to you – rather than waiting for you to seek us out." Her voice was light and pleasant – the epitome of inter-agency co-operation. But something in the way she held herself told Ingrid that Major Johnson was mocking someone in the room; seeing the look on Fillmore's face, Ingrid thought she knew who.

Rising from her seat, Major Johnson handed Vallejo a business card with a single number on it. "If you have any questions, or wish to contact, please call this number. Our assistance in this investigation is at the request of Principle Folsom, so please, do not hesitate to call." Shaking Vallejo's hand, she made to walk swiftly out of the room. As she passed Fillmore, she paused and leaning into him, whispered something in his ear. Ingrid failed to hear what was said but saw Fillmore's hand's ball into fists at the words.

Head's shot up, at the sight of the uniformed officer exiting Vallejo's office, when no one had known she was in there. She ignored them, stepping quickly over to the door which led to the school halls. Turning back, she locked eyes with Ingrid who stood just outside Vallejo's office. "It was a pleasure to meet you Officer Third." Her gaze flickered to Fillmore standing beside his partner and her lips twitched in a half smile, before she turned and left the Safety Patrol HQ.

Vallejo scratched his head and looked over to where his best officer stood, arms folded glaring at the door an M.S.C.C Officer had just closed. "Fillmore, what in the name of Lobstee was that?" he asked, gesturing with a hand toward the door.

Fillmore sighed and snatched up his bag, from where he'd dumped it by his desk. "It was nothing Vallejo, nothing." He avoided looking anyone in the eye. "Ingrid, I'll catch you for patrol after class, alright?"

Ingrid nodded, watching her friend with concern, "Sure Fillmore. Late."

He nodded once, before turning and disappearing out the door. Silence filled the Safety Patrol room and wasn't broken until a bell signalled the start of school.

* * *

Sat at the back of his English class, Fillmore stared unseeingly at the blackboard. His eyes were focused on the classroom, but his mind was focussed on his memories. The sound of pens scratching against paper around him dimmed as he lost himself in thought. 

_Flashback_

_He was walking through the grounds of X Middle School. A can of spray paint was shoved into the pocket of his jeans, and his ever present tooth-pick dangled from between his teeth. Head down, kicking an empty soda can ahead of him he failed to see the group of kids close in around him until one blocked his path. As the pair of boots filled his vision, he raised his head to look up at the boy in his way. He had to crane his head slightly, the other guy was taller than him by a good few inches._

_"Move." Fillmore's voice was harsh, rude – the type of voice which sent other kids into nervous fits. The one in front of him though didn't even flinch. He just stood there glaring down at Fillmore, arms folded across his chest in a typical body guard pose._

_Turning his head slightly, Fillmore took in his situation. Six kids surrounded him five boys and one girl. All were dressed like guy he faced: black t-shirts, black pants, black boots tightly laced. Four of them he dismissed straight away as simple muscle – much like the one in front of him. Large, but there simply to intimidate and take orders. Unlikely to be overly bright. He was pretty sure he could outsmart them if need be. But it was the other two – one boy and the girl which worried him. The girl was younger than the rest, but there was a stillness to her which attested to her being a trained fighter. Amateurs vibrate with energy – the pros are as quiet and deadly as hibernating rattlesnakes._

_The boy was older than Fillmore, probably in his final year at X. Tall and with an air of authority which the others seemed to respect. He walked towards Fillmore now, stopping a short distance away. Fillmore turned part way, unwilling to put the 'muscle' entirely at his back. The tall boy noticed this and nodded approvingly._

_"Cornelius Fillmore?" Fillmore didn't say anything. "My name is Jason DeMarco my colleagues and I represent an organisation based here at X. We would like you to become part of the organisation. If you agree, we can offer you immunity from the Safety Patrol, you would be free to continue your current exploits without interference." Fillmore raised one eyebrow. Nothing in life came free, he wanted to know what the catch was. "However this immunity would come at a price," Fillmore waited, "You would be answerable to the command structure of our organisation – there would be times when a request would be made for a certain type of work and you would have to comply with that request. Also, you would be expected to obey certain regulations – failure to comply would result in punishment. However, aside from that you would be free to do as you chose. Are you interested?"_

_Fillmore frowned, these guys seemed efficient, but they obviously hadn't done their homework if they thought he was going to agree to that. Part of what made the criminal life worth while was seeing if you were better than the Safety Patrol – the triumph every time you one. He didn't want immunity. "Sorry, no dice. I ain't nobody's errand boy. If you want a pet thief, look elsewhere."_

_DeMarco's face was carefully blank, but it was tinged with disappointment. "Very well, you've made your choice. Are you sure we can't persuade you – there are times when being one of us, can be very helpful. This is your final chance Fillmore – after this an offer will not be made again."_

_Fillmore just shook his head, he wasn't interested, "Like I said baby, no dice. Though I would like to know who you work for."_

_DeMarco shook his head, "No. That information comes with your consent to join us not before." When Fillmore didn't say anything he turned and walked away. This seemed to be a cue for the others who followed suit. All apart from the girl. She walked up to him and stood staring into his face._

_She handed him a white business card with a number printed on it. Fillmore took it raising an eyebrow. "DeMarco will not always be here, and when he is gone his orders will no longer stand. The people you saw here work for a group called the M.S.C.C, as DeMarco said, we can be powerful allies. You have refused to join us today, but there may come a time when you change your mind. If you do, call that number but be warned – doing so is binding. Once you have made that call, you belong to the M.S.C.C. Regardless of circumstance, if you make that call, you are ours. Do not try to break that contract – if you do we will destroy everything that is dear to you." She stepped away, and the fading sunlight highlighted the colour of her eyes. They were the deep dark blue of a winter night's sky._

_As she walked away, Fillmore realised that he didn't know her name._

_End Flashback_

Sighing, Fillmore dragged his thoughts away from the past, to settle on the present. He knew when he had made that call, that it was binding but he had expected to get something from it. Instead all he got was tricked. The M.S.C.C. had already been intending to help the Safety Patrol before he had called, and she had just accepted his proposal knowing that he was trapped.

In her office at M.S.C.C HQ Major Adelie Johnson smiled.


	4. Act 4: Without Equal

**Fillmore!**

**Today's Episode: ****De Oppresso Liber**

**Act 4: Sine Pari – Without Equal**

In a subterranean gym, located deep within the foundations of X Middle School, a lone figure stood, releasing her frustrations onto a punching bag. Cadet Major Adelie Johnson, had always known she did her best thinking whilst exercising – when she was a little girl she would run for ages all around her garden thinking a multitude of thoughts. But as she grew older and had been recruited to the M.S.C.C. she found that the simple pleasures of running, or spinning in circles whilst looking at the sky, no longer held the tranquillity they had when she was younger. Running was now something she did to pass fitness exams, and the thought of spinning in a circle whilst gazing at the sky had not occurred to her in months. Now, she found, that it took the strain of boxing to help her clear her mind. She knew the importance of being calm, being angry, being rash made you careless, meant you made mistakes – something she could not afford to do. Not when she was dealing with the best.

And they were the best, on two fronts. The M.S.C.C boasted some of the best X Middle School had to offer, but Fillmore and Third were the best X had period. Third was simple, a genius with a photographic memory and a delinquent past, she'd played for both sides, and was the smartest kid in school. Add to that an enthusiasm and natural skill for seeing justice done and you had one of the best Safety Patrol Officers X had ever seen. But Fillmore, Fillmore was something else entirely. Ceasing her activity, Johnson put a hand out to slow the movements of the punching bag. Dimly she was aware that her knuckles were torn where the wrapping she had placed on her hands had worn through. Ruefully she thought she should have worn gloves but the idea was distant in her mind. Her thoughts were dominated by one Cornelius Fillmore.

Johnson had always had an eye for excellence. She saw talent in others, and knew how to use it to her advantage. And what talent Fillmore had. Johnson had seen cadets come, and cadets go, but never had she seen what she saw in Fillmore. He was quicker, smarter, more resourceful. Sure, the M.S.C.C had plenty who were smart – who scored better on tests than Fillmore did, but no one thought like Fillmore. He saw links where most people saw blanks. He knew how people's minds worked on both sides of the law. He had ins with nearly every group in school, and no matter what he did he gave his all, whether it was thieving or working for the Safety Patrol. Johnson wanted that zeal, that passion for the M.S.C.C. Smirking, she began to strip of the strapping on her hands. Fillmore had already signed himself over to the M.S.C.C., now to make him see things her way.

* * *

Leaning against the wall, Ingrid Third watched the door, to Fillmore's last class of the day. The teacher had kept them late explaining the details of a homework assignment, and Ingrid took the time before her partner joined her for the after-school beat to think over the day's events. Usually Ingrid found herself relaxing in Fillmore's easy friendship. He had been her first friend at X and the bond had not waned. They brought out the best in each other – she stopped him drowning in guilt about his past, and he stopped her condemning the world for its idiocies. But today had been different. There had been nothing of the well-timed jokes or witty repartee, which marked their usual interactions – instead there had been nothing but silence: concerned on Ingrid's end and forcibly detached from Fillmore's. Of course the pair had experience their share of 'off days' when one or both would rather have been left alone. But this was different. Fillmore had seemed to almost, determinedly, putting distance between them, both physically as well as in terms of their friendship. He hadn't said more than was necessary to her all day – even when they'd eaten lunch together – keeping his words cold and efficient, and he had made a point of keeping nearly a foot between them at all times.

Though she would never admit it aloud, Ingrid was slightly hurt by his behaviour. She thought he trusted her enough to tell her at least that something was wrong even if he wasn't willing to share details. Ingrid's scowl deepened, as she thought of the scene she and Vallejo had witnessed between Fillmore and Major Johnson – that the pair had a history was obvious, but even without her IQ, Ingrid knew that it was nothing like the history Fillmore had shared with Penny Madrid. This was darker, more sinister. Where Penny's whispers and coy looks had been tinged with flirtation, Johnson's had been filled with malice. Ingrid wondered briefly if he was being blackmailed, but dismissed the thought almost immediately. Fillmore's reaction was one of anger rather than fear.

The opening of the classroom door brought Ingrid from her thoughts. She watched as the students filed out of the room, waiting for her partner to show. He did, head down, a frown marring his features. He didn't notice her, until she crossed the hall and stepped in front of him. As a pair of unlaced, black ankle boots filled Fillmore's vision, he raised his head to see Ingrid standing before him, carefully maintaining a neutral expression. He didn't say anything but raised one eyebrow in greeting.

"We've got a meeting with Major Johnson, remember?" Ingrid asked. She was concerned with his lack of greeting; though Fillmore often played the 'strong, silent type' (especially when he was brooding), he normally managed to say 'hello'. Today however, he merely nodded once before moving past her in the direction of the school doors. Startled, Ingrid stood there for a moment before turning and jogging down the hall to catch her partner. Who knew he could walk so fast?

"Fillmore. Fillmore, wait." Determined to get some answers from her friend as to why he was behaving so strangely, Ingrid hurried to catch up to Fillmore. Reaching him, she tugged on the back of his shirt to get him to slow down. He was only a couple of inches taller than her, but apprarently that meant that he had a much longer stride. "Fillmore," she said, laying a hand on his arm, "What's going on?"

Ingrid watched as Fillmore sagged. The hard impenetrable cold which he seemed to have wrapped himself in all day, fractured slightly before he dragged it around himself once more. Ingrid sighed to herself, as she felt muscles, which for a moment had relaxed, became tense once again.

His face hidden from Ingrid's view, Fillmore clenched his jaw. He hated acting this way toward Ingrid. Who wanted to ignore their best friend? But, as cliché as it sounded he was doing this for her own good. He hadn't like the interest Johnson had shown in his friend. He didn't want her getting involved with the M.S.C.C. It was bad enough he had been played for a fool, but he wasn't about to drop Ingrid in his mess. He felt the gentle hurt from her and winced. She was hiding it well, but he knew what she was feeling – it was a testament to their friendship that he was probably the only one aside from her family who knew when her mood changed.

Still refusing to look at his partner, Fillmore addressed the hallways of X Middle School. "Nothing's wrong. We have a meeting, come on." Ingrid opened her mouth to say something but closed it again without bothering. Anything she said now would fall on deaf ears. Following Fillmore down the halls, Ingrid continued to silently debate Fillmore's behaviour to herself.

Silently, the pair made their way through the school, Fillmore barely keeping the main doors open long enough for Ingrid to get through. Crossing the grounds quickly, the two wound their way through the remnants of the Maize Maze. Reaching the centre, they saw Adelie Johnson leaning against the wooden sign, which proclaimed their arrival at the centre of the maze. She was wearing the same black on black ensemble Fillmore had seen her wear when they first met. Her gaze hidden by mirror reflective sunglasses – though the weak near-winter light made them entirely unnecessary.

Ingrid suspected that she was watching both of them intently from behind the safety of the reflective lenses, but she could equally have been examining the backs of her eyelids. Fillmore stopped as soon as they entered the centre of the maze, but Ingrid moved past him, standing further around the circumference. She couldn't explain why, but her instincts told her that it was better if she and Fillmore weren't standing together. Harder to take out two birds with one stone if said birds weren't standing next to each other.

Watching the silent, smirking cadet before him, Fillmore grit his teeth. He had turned up at HQ during lunch to be told by Vallejo that he and Third were to meet Johnson straight after school, no arguments. Looking at her now, he felt his anger towards Johnson grow, mixed with his anger towards himself. Glaring at her with suppressed fury he noticed, that beneath her folded arms, Johnson was holding a file. Seeing his eyes on it, she twisted her lips in a caricature of a smile before holding it out. Casually, Ingrid moved as though to take the file, but Fillmore beat her to it. Surprised, Ingrid watched as Fillmore silently opened the file. With each passing moment, Johnson's smile grew and Fillmore began to frown.

"I can't read this." Frustration laced Fillmore's voice, as he shoved the folder back towards Johnson. The girl seemed almost giddy with the admission, as she took the file from his outstretched hand and sauntered over to where Ingrid stood. Giving the other girl the file, the cadet watched with anticipation as the petite Safety Patroller, quickly scanned the contents of the file.

Ingrid sighed, "Its written in code. It'll take time but I should be able to decipher it." Johnson clapped her hands together and spun round to face Fillmore, a look of unmitigated glee covering her features. Crossing over to the exit of the Maze, Johnson shot a look over her shoulder to where Fillmore was standing, glaring at her retreating form. "You're partner really is quite exceptional Officer Fillmore. Really, the two of you are, without equal."

* * *

Punching in her access code, which would allow her entrance to M.S.C.C Head Quarters, Johnson replayed the day's events in her head. Though Fillmore didn't know it, more had been revealed today than Third's brilliance. True she was gifted if she could even begin to comprehend that code simply by looking at it – but that wasn't the issue. Fillmore had proved today, that Third was his weakness. He had moved to take the file even though she was nearer – he obviously wanted her far away from the M.S.C.C., was trying to protect her from their interest. Too late. But that was not everything. It was clear that Fillmore's wish to protect his partner was due to more than just a working relationship – they were friends, and such deep friendships were never one sided. If Ingrid was Fillmore's weakness, then he would be hers. He might just be the leverage Johnson needed, to secure Ingrid Third to the service of the M.S.C.C along with her crime fighting partner. Letting herself into her office, she smiled. This was becoming far easier than she had anticipated.

* * *

Sitting at the desk situated in her room, Ingrid poured over the file in front of her. Her work was now, only illuminated by the small lamp sitting on her desk, but she failed to notice that all natural light had long since died. Pages of notes, and various symbols littered the desk and the floor. Now and again, she would look up from her work to search for an earlier page of written notes before returning her attention to the code contained within the file. The clock on the wall, counted the late hour but Ingrid paid no notice. She was so close. Her 'translation' of the files contents stood stacked by her elbow awaiting the final page.

With a sense of triumph, Ingrid cracked the last line of code, and sat back with a sigh. Rubbing her eyes, she winced as her muscles protested the movement. Too many hours spent hunched over in one position had caused them to stiffen up. Gingerly, she stretched and set about getting ready for bed. Tomorrow she would share her findings with the rest of the Safety Patrol, but for now all she wanted was to curl up and sleep away what remained of the night. Shutting of the lamp, she padded softly across her room and slid under the covers, burrowing down until she was comfortable. Her last thought before she drifted off to sleep, was that maybe the contents of that file would prompt Fillmore into talking to her.


	5. Act 5: Third Always First

**A/N - Sorry for the long delay in the update and the relative shortness in the chapter. Life has been hectic with summer jobs, limited computer access, and writers block. Also apologies if anyone seems too OOC - if anyone is interested in reading future chapters to check for this please contact me.**

**Fillmore!**

**Today's Episode: ****De Oppresso Liber**

**Act 5: ****Terita Semper Prima - Third Always First**

Fillmore kept his head down as he walked to school. Out of the corners of his eyes, he kept a look out for black combat boots and a head of black hair. He had deliberately headed to school late, so as to avoid meeting Ingrid on the way. They had an agreement, that if either one of them wasn't there by a certain time, they would go on ahead. Ingrid had never been late in all the time he had known her, he on the other hand …

He let his thoughts drift to those times when he had raced towards the stop sign, only to see Ingrid standing there, a knowing smirk etched on her face and a witty remark on her lips. Growling in frustration, he once again cursed Adelie Johnson and her two-faced scheming ways. If it wasn't for her, it wouldn't be necessary for him to avoid Ingrid, wouldn't be necessary for him to hurt his best friend.

His thoughts were rudely interrupted, as two hands shot out of a supply closet he was passing, and pulled him roughly inside. A foot kicked the door shut and the room was plunged into darkness. Fillmore heard the click of a lock and immediately tensed up. It was far to dark for him to discern his abductor's face but he was beginning to form an idea of whom it might be.

He was proven entirely wrong however, when Ingrid's voice came from the darkness. "Fillmore, we need to talk."

Fillmore sighed as a wave of frustration washed over him. So much for avoiding Ingrid. Still, at least it wasn't Johnson who had locked him in a closet.

"Sure Ingrid, but can we at least have a little light?" he tried to keep his voice dry, disinterested as if talking to her was the least of his priorities, but all he managed to do was sound tired.

A way in front of him, he heard Ingrid shift and settle down onto what was probably a box. "No, Fillmore. I don't want you knowing where the exit is."

Fillmore winced, knowing that she couldn't see it. It pained him to know that he had been rude enough to her yesterday for her to expect a pattern, rather than attributing his behaviour to having a 'bad day'. They sat in silence for a while, and Fillmore could almost feel her hurt coming off her in waves. He heard her sigh softly, the sound laced with pain. His mind flashed back to the look of pain in her eyes when he had tried to stop her taking the file in the Maize Maze and his resolve broke.

"Please Ingrid? I'm not going to try to leave." Something in his voice must have told Ingrid that this was _her_ Fillmore talking because a moment later light puttered into being above their heads.

Looking at her, Fillmore had to fight to keep his eyes from going wide. It had been less than 24 hours since he had last seen her, but the girl before him looked like a shadow of the one he claimed as a best friend. She looked tired, and sad. Dark circles lined her eyes – testimony to only a few hours sleep and she seemed reluctant to meet his gaze. On her lap lay a two files – one he recognised as the one Johnson had given them, the other he was unfamiliar with. Noticing his gaze, Ingrid wordlessly handed the unfamiliar file to him, whilst keeping Johnson's copy for herself.

"It's the 'translation' of the code Johnson used to disguise her documents." As Fillmore made to read the contents, Ingrid cut him off. "Read it later." She paused. "Fillmore." She didn't say anything else, but that one word said more than she could have with words.

Fillmore _hated_ it when she said his name like that. She sounded so … disappointed in him. He'd only heard that tone a couple of times, but each time it made him wish he could turn the clock back and not do whatever it was which had made her speak to him that way. He looked up from where he had been scrutinising his hands, to see that Ingrid was determinedly not looking at him. All he could see was her profile but it was enough. The bags under her eyes were highlights, and her mouth was drawn tight. She looked defeated. Watching her, Fillmore felt a stab of something he couldn't define. His best friend, his partner, was refusing to look at him. He had thought their friendship was stronger than that. He had thought Ingrid trusted him. Was it possible that less than forty-eight hours of friction had reduced them to this? And if so, what did that say about their friendship.

Ingrid watched from the corner of her eye as Fillmore's internal battle played across her face. She knew she should look at him, face him, act like his friend but she was tired. A day spent trying to figure out what was eating her best friend, an evening spent cracking a nearly impossible code, and a fitful night spent dreaming of the contents of a file had combined to make her edgy and reluctant to look people in the face.

She hadn't liked what she read in that file, it hadn't sat well with her – it was … troubling. Resisting the urge to shake her head in frustration, she turned her attention back to Fillmore, finally meeting his gaze. He was watching her with a guarded expression in his eyes, but that melted slightly when he saw her slump and lean her elbows on her knees. She looked exhausted and she knew it, and it seemed Fillmore realised it too.

Silence still reigned, but with that one look the tension had ebbed away. They were back to being Fillmore and Third, though Ingrid still wanted answers. She raised one eyebrow in question, doing such a good impression of his usual expression that Fillmore laughed. The sound brought a smile to Ingrid's face, and she moved so that she leaned on the wall opposite him.

In the end, Ingrid voiced the question that had been bothering her since yesterday. "What's up with you and Johnson Fillmore?" Her voice was soft, questioning, but Fillmore still had to fight the urge to tense up at the mention of the subject. Ingrid deserved the truth, he knew that – and he wasn't about to risk damaging their friendship irreparably by lying to her.

"We have history." He said. Ingrid snorted elegantly and Fillmore smiled. They were probably okay if he could still tease her. "We met back when I first found out about the M.S.C.C. – said to call her if I ever needed a favour."

Ingrid eyed her friend sharply. "Why would she do that?" The young genius asked. The description of events sounded far to generous to be Johnson. She would never admit it aloud, but Johnson scared her slightly – with her dead eyes, and cruel smiles – Major Adelie Johnson did not seem the type to simply 'lend a helping hand'.

Fillmore cocked an eyebrow in his partner's direction, "Because I'm cute?" His question startled a short laugh from Ingrid, but she sobered quickly when she realised Fillmore was dodging her question.

Noticing the look on her face, Fillmore cleared his throat. As he opened his mouth to speak, the bell rang. On instinct, the pair shot up, already moving towards the door so as not to be late for class.

As she reached for the door handle, Ingrid looked over her shoulder at Fillmore. "We'll continue this conversation later." Her only reply was a nod as they sped off down the corridors.

* * *

Unknown to the Safety Patrollers, two sets of eyes – oblivious to each other – watched them race down the halls. One set, cool and calculating gleaming with a malicious intent; the others worried – concerned for the crime fighting friends and afraid fearful of a girl with lifeless blue eyes, and a cruel, twisted smile. 


	6. Act 6: Let Valour Not Fail

_A:N - Dear BabyBeaver and Queen S of Randomness 016, I hope you like your cameos. If I've misrepresented your characters at all let me know and I'll make ammendments in the next chapter._

**Fillmore!**

**Today's Episode: ****De Oppresso Liber**

**Act 6: Let Valour Not Fail**

Fillmore scowled deeply, as he flung open his locker door, snorting in satisfaction when it clanged violently against wall. His continued conversation with Ingrid had not gone well. What had started as a rational discussion about his recent behaviour and the content of the file Ingrid had decoded, had snowballed into a furious argument.

Words had been said with the sole intent to hurt and to blame, with little thought being given to the consequences. Insults and accusations had flown between them, culminating with Fillmore stating that perhaps partners, who had so little faith in each other, should not work together. He could still hear her cool reply when she told him partners should not keep secrets from each other either, before she had walked away.

Resting his head against the cool metal of the locker next door, Fillmore briefly wondered where they had gone wrong. He had thought that after their tête-à-tête in the janitor's closet that they were getting back on track – but apparently not.

With a sigh, he swung his locker door shut. As it swung into place, he swore and jumped, glaring at the person it revealed. Major Adelie Johnson was standing smiling sweetly at him.

"Bad day, Officer?" she asked. Her voice was sugar coated, barely hiding the vindictive pleasure riddling the words. Cornelius said nothing, choosing instead to continue glaring at the intruder. Unperturbed, Johnson continued, "I heard about your argument with Officer Third, pity she distrusts you so." The sickly smile was still in place, accompanied by a malicious gleam in her eyes. Fillmore scowled at her and turned away.

Quick as a rattlesnake, she shot round him so she was standing in front of him again. "Not so fast Officer Fillmore. You see, the time has come for you to make good on your promise to me."

"What promise?" Fillmore ground out. Cadet Major Adelie Johnson was starting to get on his nerves.

"The promise you made, to sign yourself over to the M.S.C.C. if we helped you with your little case. The file Officer Third received has all the evidence you need, so the case should be closed shortly. It is time therefore, for you to join the ranks of the X's finest."

Fillmore's mind flashed back to what the reporter Greg Mendez had told him about the cadets who operated as part of the student body. "I won't betray the Safety Patrol." It was his one condition – he'd hold onto it as long as he could.

Johnson smiled, white teeth flashing between red painted lips, "I'm not asking you to." She said, "Admittedly that was my intention at first but I've decided that there are far better uses for you than the Safety Patrol."

She took a step closer to him, wrapping one hand around the back of Fillmore's neck. Fillmore's eyes widened in disbelief and disgust – the feel of Adelie Johnson so close to him was making his skin crawl. She leaned up to whisper in his ear. "Turn in your badge and report to the gardener's shed on the east playing field after school – or Ingrid Third pays the price." The feel of her hot breath against his ear made him want to be physically sick. Pushing her off him, Fillmore marched away down the hall, Johnson's laughter following in his wake.

* * *

The ringing of the lunch bell saw Ingrid Third winding her way through the halls of X Middle School. She had forgiven Fillmore his angry words the moment she had walked out the door. She knew he had not meant it – they were still friends, she believed they always would be, they were just going through a rough patch. The string of unsolved cases and Folsom breathing down their necks, was enough to make anyone snappy.

Now though, she had a different worry. In her mind, she kept replaying the scene she had witnessed earlier in the day. Fillmore and Major Johnson? The raven-haired Safety Patroller was still having a hard time processing what she had seen. It did not make any sense. It had seemed as though Fillmore despised the cadet – that the history they shared was one of mutual dislike – but the scene earlier was making Ingrid revise that opinion. Maybe his history with Johnson _was_ like the one he had with Penny Madrid. If so, Ingrid worried for him. Fillmore had been played once by a girl from his delinquent past, Ingrid did not want to see it happen again.

She looked down at the file in her hand. So much potential evidence – all she had to do was follow the leads Johnson had provided. Get the solid proof they needed to make this a slam-dunk case.

Looking up again, Ingrid sighted her quarry leaving a classroom further down the hall. Quickening her pace, Ingrid rapidly caught up to the shorter girl. Pulling out her badge, Ingrid introduced herself. "Sarah Marrows? Ingrid Third, X Middle School Safety Patrol. Can we talk?"

The other girl nodded, slightly surprised by the request, and motioned to the classroom she had just vacated. She busied herself momentarily, with her school bag, giving Ingrid the chance to observe the girl who was earning a reputation as one of the best advice column writers X Middle School had seen in a long time. Shoulder length dark blonde hair was pulled into two braids each tied with a vibrantly coloured tie. Her brown eyes were sharp and inquisitive but there was also kindness in her eyes. Sarah Marrows was a good person; she had earned a reputation for saying things that could be helpful to anyone at the most unexpected times. She was also one of the few people at X Middle School who had the low-down on almost every member of the student body.

The young writer settled back against one of the desks. "So Officer Third, what can I do for you?"

Ingrid lent back against the teacher's desk, folding her arms across her chest. "I was wondering if you could give me information about a few of the students here at X?" At the other girl's nod, she continued. "Adelie Johnson, Matt Nemis, and Greg Mendez."

Sarah frowned for a moment, before she began talking. "Adelie Johnson. Not much is known about her, even to 'info gurus' such as myself – I don't even know what she looks like. There's only a limited amount of intel. in the system as I'm sure you're aware." Ingrid nodded. She had scoured the school database for any relevant information on all three names, but everything she had turned up was too clean – it made her suspicious. "Word on the street is Johnson's tough. She's ambitious, forceful and not afraid to take what she wants. Those who don't know her, don't want to and those who do know her, are scared of what she could do. The girl has very few ethical boundaries if you know what I'm saying? By the way, did you know that the number of criminals with recorded psychopathic tendencies has risen by eight percent over the last two years in the US alone."

Ingrid blinked, both slightly stunned by the random change in conversation and unsure of what to make of such disturbing information. Her companion seemed to recognise her predicament as she shrugged slightly and mumbled an apology before continuing.

"Matt Nemis is now an ex-student of X Middle School. Loner, quite bright, had a unique perspective on things. Maths teachers pegged him for a career in cryptography – kid saw patterns where most people saw a mess. Left X a few months ago, citing a need for a change of scene, is believed to have been awarded a part-scholarship to a school two towns over. That's all I know."

Ingrid frowned, "And what about Greg Mendez?"

Sarah shifted uncomfortably, "What about him? Greg was – scratch that – _is_ a good reporter. Just because he got kicked off the Xaminer doesn't mean he's any less talented. He's my friend, and he was Matt's friend too. Why do you want to know about him?"

Ingrid held out a hand to stop the flow of words, "Wait, Greg was kicked off the staff?" she asked. In her mind, she was replaying Greg's words from their conversation. _"I resigned in protest"_

"Yeah, it was a shame really, I mean the whole point of a reporter is to ask the questions no one else is willing to but I guess he managed to annoy the wrong people. One day some girl walks into the newsroom and asks to talk to the Editor-in-Chief. Next thing we know, Greg's off the team."

"Do you know what this girl looked like at all?" Ingrid asked.

"I only got a brief look at her. Red-ish brown hair, average height."

"Any distinguishing features?" Sarah frowned at the urgency in the Patrol Officer's voice.

"Not really," she said, and Ingrid's shoulders slumped, "except for her eyes you know?"

Ingrid's head shot up, "What about them?"

"They were strange – so dead and cold. Like she didn't know what it meant to be happy."

Ingrid nodded, she knew those eyes. "Thanks for your time."

"No problem Officer. Glad to be of help." Sarah said as she headed out the door. "Write to me, if you ever need advice."

* * *

Ingrid hurried into the Safety Patrol Office, narrowly dodging O'Farrell as he demonstrated to Tehama what appeared to be the proportions of a Giant Chicken – if his head bobbing and clucking were anything to go by.

She spotted Fillmore by his desk and quickly made her way over to him. "Fillmore, I need to talk to you."

Her partner did not look up, but instead fixed his eyes on the corner of his desk. "Not now Third." The girl before him, blinked, startled. She had forgiven him the moment they stopped arguing, but maybe he had not done the same.

"Fillmore?" She asked, manoeuvring in an attempt to have him look her in the eye. It was then that she noticed his apparel. He was wearing the clothes he had worn as a deliquent.

"Fillmore, what's going on? Why aren't you wearing your belt?" Ingrid questioned. If she had not been watching, she would have missed it – the quick flash of guilt that passed across his face.

"You quit." Ingrid's voice was soft with disbelief. Catching her gaze, Fillmore saw the hurt and betrayal welling in their depths.

"Is it Johnson?" she asked.

"Ingrid –"

"Is it Johnson?" she repeated cutting him off. Slowly he nodded, watching as her face fell, and the betrayal etched deeper into her eyes.

He opened his mouth to speak but Ingrid cut him off with a slow shake of her head. "Just go Fillmore."

He nearly reached out to her, at the pain in her voice. But he refrained. Looking away, Fillmore placed his badge on the desk between them, pushing it towards her with a flick of his fingers. She made no move to pick it up.

Head down, Cornelius Fillmore – ex-delinquent and now ex-Safety Patroller – walked out the door of the Safety Patrol Office. He never once looked back.

* * *

Fillmore made his way slowly to the east playing field. His stomach felt like it had been filled up with lead. The look on Ingrid's face when she had realised the truth would haunt him. He blinked and again saw her standing there, disbelief plastered over her face – disbelief that her best friend had betrayed her like this.

His feet eventually drew him to the gardener's shed at the far edge of the playing field. The shed was rarely used, but frequented enough to keep criminal bodies from using it as a base. Fillmore cast a critical eye over it. The dingy white paint was beginning to peel; the lock on the door was rusted and would not even require much force to break off. The shed could hardly be classified as the pride of X Middle School.

Walking over to the door, Fillmore jimmied the lock – more out of boredom than a real attempt to get inside. Finding it more resilient than he had expected, the young African American bent to inspect it – desperate for anything that would distract him from memories of his partner. His mind flashed back to when he had first met Ingrid – she pad picked the lock to the front of the school as if it were second nature.

With a noise of disgust, mostly directed at himself, Fillmore turned his back on the lock and for the second time that day, came face to face with Cadet Major Adelie Johnson. She was in full uniformed regalia: golden oak leaves gleamed on her shoulders, skirt and jacket crisp and pristine, hair pulled back and secured with a green ribbon. She smiled triumphantly at him, before withdrawing a key from her pocket and opening the doors to the shed.

Throwing the door open wide, the malicious girl made a sweeping gesture with her right arm, "After you Officer." When Fillmore did not move, she smirked and sashayed into the building.

The back corner of the shed, raised to reveal a metal ladder, similar to the ones you get on sinkholes. Impatiently she motioned for Fillmore to start climbing down. The glare he shot in her direction was met with a satisfied smirk. Tension screaming through every part of his body, Cornelius Fillmore climbed stiffly down the ladder, his feet clanging on each rung with decisive force. He never once looked up, choosing instead to keep his eyes on his feet as the light from above dwindled slowly into darkness.

After what seemed like an age, his feet his cold concrete and he blinked as he stepped out into harsh artificial light. Taking a step back to avoid being trampled by Johnson as she climbed down, Fillmore felt something jabbed into the small of his back.

"Do Not Move." Slowly, Fillmore raised his hands in a non-threatening gesture, locking them behind his head for good measure. The voice was female – calm and filled with icy purpose. Fillmore felt the air move, as the owner of the voice reached one hand forward and began to frisk him, snatching his wallet and flicking it open, searching for an I.D.

About to ask if he could lower his arms, Fillmore was interrupted by the arrival of Adelie Johnson. She dropped to the floor, landing easily on both feet, having simply slid down the ladder rather than climbing it. Turning, she raised an eyebrow at the scene before him.

"Leave him O'Conner. He's with me." Fillmore felt a hiss of breath against the back of his neck, as the girl behind him tensed at Johnson's words. A rush of air wrapped around him, as the other cadet took a step away from his back. Lowering his hands, Fillmore turned to see who had accosted him.

Green eyes in an oval face glared back at him. Long, slightly wavy red hair was pulled up into a severe ponytail, from which not even one strand escaped. Of average height, the girl was slender – with the long wiry muscles of a long distance runner. Fillmore was taken aback by the absolute hate in her eyes. He glanced down at the nametag, sewn into her olive green service jacket: Cad. Maj. Bridget O'Conner. Glancing back up into her eyes, he was met with a derisive sneer before O'Conner dismissed him from her attention and focused on Johnson.

"Ma'am?" Her tone said clearly that she wanted to know just what Johnson thought she was doing bringing Fillmore here.

Johnson moved up along side Fillmore, never taking her eyes of Bridget. "You would do well to learn, _never_ to question me, O'Conner. In light of your recent transfer to this command, I will let this indiscretion go, with only a warning this time, but remember this. We may technically be of equal rank, but I am this Corps' Second in Command. _My word here is law_. Understood?" O'Conner nodded once stiffly, her back ramrod straight in the face of Johnson's dressing down. "Good," Adelie continued, her mirthless smile back in place, "show our new recruit where he can get a uniform. I have a meeting with the Colonel."

With those words, she swept off down the hall.

* * *


	7. Act 7: Heaven Sent, Hell Bent

**Fillmore!**

**Today's Episode: ****De Oppresso Liber**

**Act 7: Heaven Sent, Hell Bent**

The ground crunched under Karen Tehama's shoes, as she steadily meandered her way through the trees scattered throughout X's main park. The giant oak and maple trees towered overhead, scattering the fading light in a flame of orange and gold tinged with pink. Ahead of her lay a small playground – a swing set and a slide being its only furnishings. On one of the swings sat a petite girl – dressed head to toe in black, an orange belt lying discarded next to her bag on the ground. Light glinted off something she held in her hand. Tehama knew it would be a badge.

Sighing softly to herself, the young CSI took the last few steps and lowered herself onto the swing beside her friend. She chose not to notice the tearstains that had dried on Ingrid's cheeks instead choosing to hand the other girl the report she had borrowed.

The gesture seemed to startle Ingrid out of her contemplation. She looked up, unconsciously dashing a hand under her eyes before she took the file from Tehama's out-stretched hand.

"Well, what did you think?" Ingrid asked. Her voice was soft, slightly rough, though not enough to warrant Tehama commenting on it.

"I honestly don't know." Karen said. She frowned as she remembered the letters written in Ingrid neat handwriting, conveying Johnson's words. The report was credible. More than credible even. Each source listed checked out, what had merely been speculation on Johnson's part, was quickly turning into hard evidence that could be used in a conviction. Looking over at the Safety Patrol's resident genius, she continued. "It seems to be a slam-dunk case. The evidence we can verify checks out – and Johnson has said she'll testify in place of the evidence we can't check."

"No luck tracking down Matt Nemis?"

Tehama shook her head. "None. We've got every one else mentioned in that file accounted for, but Matt Nemis remains a mystery. I guess he really is a ghost." Seeing Ingrid open her mouth to ask another question, she beat her to it. "No go on Mendez either, he's vanished."

Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, Ingrid scuffed a foot along the ground, absentmindedly running her fingers over the contours of Fillmore's badge. Frustrated she pushed herself up off the swing and began to pace.

"This doesn't make any sense Karen." She said, sparing a glance at the other Safety Patroller who sat idly on the swing. "I'm going to spell it out, tell me if I go wrong."

"Right-oh."

"One: a spate of random thefts occur at X. Nothing taken that's of any _significant_ value or that affects the school as a whole. Certainly nothing, that would draw the attention of the entire student body. No clues are left at any of the crime scenes, though it appears to be the same perp. each time. At the sight of the last theft, a smoke canister was collected, which was tracked to an underground organisation known as the M.S.C.C. However, the moment we begin to investigate this organisation orders from on high come down and put a stop to it. According to Folsom, and I quote, _'__The cadets of this school are the epitome of honour and duty and what's more, is that they are untouchable.'_ Yet Fillmore seemed convinced he had a way of reaching the M.S.C.C or at least of tracking their movements so we could continue the investigation. Then out of the blue, Adelie Johnson shows up, compliments of Principle Folsom."

"Wait," Karen interrupted, "Fillmore said he had a way of reaching the M.S.C.C.?"

"Yeah," Ingrid said, "He didn't say how at the time, but later he mentioned Johnson had told him to call her if he ever needed a favour." Her brow furrowed at the memory.

"How friendly of her." Tehama commented, voice perfectly neutral as she looked at the girl pacing back and forth.

Ingrid scowled, "It's not like that between them Tehama, he hates her – you saw how he acted when she was at the Office."

Karen nodded, "I did, but maybe there's another explanation for it. Think, Fillmore says he has a way of finding out more about the M.S.C.C; next day Johnson turns up in Vellejo's office. Turns out however, that she's there because of Folsom. Maybe what Fillmore was mad about wasn't Johnson being there, but that he'd wasted his favour, since if he'd waited 24 hours, Folsom would have given him what he wanted anyway."

Ingrid shook her head vehemently, "No way, it takes more than that to make Fillmore angry."

Tehama sighed, "Maybe, maybe not. But think about it Ingrid. What possible reason, other than a vested interest, could Johnson have for going out of her way to help us, when Folsom has already given the M.S.C.C immunity?"

"You think there's something going on between them." Ingrid's voice was soft, but it was a statement not a question. She would not meet Tehama's eyes.

The other girl sighed. "I honestly don't know. But we both know Fillmore wouldn't leave the Safety Patrol lightly, not unless he thought it would be a conflict of interest." The sentence was neutral but the implications were clear. A conflict of interest would only arise, if Fillmore had some form of attachment to a group that had immunity from the law at X.

Pushing herself off the swing, Tehama placed a hand on her friend's shoulder. "I'm sorry Ingrid." The other girl just nodded, still refusing to make eye contact. Karen sighed, nudged Ingrid's shoulder lightly, and left. Trying to forget the broken look, she had caught in her friend's eyes.

* * *

Fillmore rubbed his eyes tiredly, trying to grind the grit out of them. In the artificially lit corridors of the M.S.C.C. command centre there was no way to tell how much time was passing above ground. If he hadn't been wearing a watch, he would have gone crazy trying to work out if it was night or day. As it was, he had already been down here much longer than he would of liked.

He followed Bridget O'Conner, down yet another set of hallways. The command centre was like a rat-warren, winding beneath the whole of X Middle School. At various points access shafts led above ground, or in some cases to areas of the school's basement. It was times like these, that Fillmore really wished he had Ingrid's photographic memory. It would take him months to learn these hallways, if not longer.

That thought made him pause momentarily. Had he really resigned himself to staying with the M.S.C.C? He knew the answer even as he asked the question. Of course he had. His cooperation was the only thing standing between Johnson and Ingrid, and whilst he did not for a second, expect the cadet to keep her word to stay away from Ingrid, he knew he was in a better position to stop Johnson here, then as a member of the Safety Patrol.

Head down, he continued walking, only to be brought up short by a door swinging shut in his face. Growling, he rubbed the spot on the cheek where the door had impacted, wincing as the skin felt tender and raw. Suddenly, his anger flared. He took Johnson's attitude because Ingrid's safety was potentially at stake but he refused to take it from _this_ cadet.

Furious, he slammed the door open causing it to ricochet off the wall. "Man, what is your problem?"

The cadet in the other room raised an inquisitive eyebrow at his outburst. Green eyes glittered dangerously in a face quickly thinning with anger.

"I would have thought _that_ was obvious." Bridget hissed at him. Fillmore noticed that the Irish brogue, which had always been present in her voice, became more pronounced, as her anger mounted.

Fillmore angrily pushed the door closed behind him. The room they were standing in, appeared to be some type of workroom. A waist high, rough-hewn bench, stood between them. Leaning his weight against it Fillmore tried to get a handle on his fury. "Yeah, well it's not." Closing his eyes, the newest recruit to the X Middle School Cadet Corps, sighed wearily. Suddenly he remember something. "Can I have my wallet back?"

Bridget O'Conner blinked once in surprise, before smiling wryly. "I was wondering when you were going to remember." Digging in one of her pockets, the girl drew out the black leather wallet she had taken from him earlier. Flipping it open she pulled out the photo which held pride of place in the wallet.

"Who is she?" Bridget asked, turning the photo over so it was facing him. Moving forward, Fillmore plucked the photo from her fingers. He knew this photo like the back of his hand. Looking down at it, his face softened. The picture was of him and third, snapped by Danny one day when the Safety Patrol were hanging out together off duty. The two of them were sitting in the grass laughing, he was staring out of the photograph, but Ingrid was looking at him rather than the camera. he ran his fingers softly over the photograph, smiling as he remembered the day it had been taken.

His was brought rudely from his memories by O'Conner's snide remark. "I half expected it to be Major Johnson."

Fillmore chocked on the air he had just breathed, his face flushing with anger as he glared at Bridget. "Dawg, there is _nothing_ between Johnson and I, aight?" He spun the picture round and held it up to O'Conner's face. "I'm with Ingrid. All the way."

O'Conner seemed rather startled at his words, her face falling into a blank mask that barely hid the confusion in her gaze.

"She must be have been very special to you." She said softly, eyeing Fillmore's expression as he ran a hand over the picture.

His mouth twisted bitterly as he remebered Ingrid's face earlier that day. "She is."

* * *

Ingrid paced fitfully back and forth across her room. Moonlight streamed in through the curtains, illuminating the bronze Safety Patrol badge that lay in the centre of the desk under the window.

She knew she should be sleeping, but she just couldn't bring herself to lie down. She had too much energy, at times it felt as if ants were crawling on her skin, at others, as if she had just touched a live wire. Adrenaline was coursing through her body, and Ingrid hated it. She hated not feeling comfortable in her own skin. Her eyes landed on the badge in the moonlight and emotion welled inside her. She wanted to cry, she wanted to scream, but most of all she wanted to feel numb. She wanted to forget the days events, forget what that badge sitting there meant, she wanted to wake up and find time had reversed itself – that Fillmore was still her partner and that things were the way they were supposed to be.

Frustrated, Ingrid threw herself roughly onto her floor, the rough fibres of the carpet serving to both irritate and calm her. Closing her eyes, she visualised the report Johnson had written, typed words flying behind her eyelids. Page after page of unrelenting text appeared before her mind's eye.

Taking a deep breath, Ingrid re-evaluated the report in her mind. According to Johnson, the M.S.C.C had a cancer: a sleeper cell of cadets who were acting without order and without authorisation in an attempt to expand their influence at X Middle School. This cell had orchestrated the string of thefts that had been plaguing X over the last months. They had placed themselves centre stage in X's underground crime rings – quickly working their way to top dog. Johnson claimed to have a person on the inside, feeding her information which allowed her to track this groups movements. Her reasons for not putting a stop to this splinter group's activities sooner were slightly vague. However, Ingrid could empathise with the pain caused by loosing one of your own. Apparently, Johnson had been the one who had recruited Nemis – the young detective could imagine Johnson's reluctance to take down him and his group. It is hard to destroy something you helped build.

She knew why Johnson had leapt at the chance to include the Safety Patrol. It killed two birds with one stone. Involving the Safety Patrol, allowed Johnson to stop this cancer without asking cadets to arrest their friends, whilst at the same time allowing the M.S.C.C to stay off the student body's radar. It would be just another ordinary arrest by the Safety Patrol – no secret student groups, no convoluted conspiracies. Just the good guys taking down the bad.

As exhaustion over came her at last, Ingrid heaved herself off the floor and into bed. Tomorrow they were taking down Nemis and his gang. The gang was scheduled to meet in one of the old locker rooms at 1400 hours. All the Safety Patrol had to do, was listen in until the group incriminated themselves, then make the arrest. Ingrid doubted it would be that easy.

Fillmore stood to attention in front of a polished wood desk. He fought the urge to readjust the uniform he wore. It felt unnatural against his skin – alien and defining. He did not like being put in a box.

Eyes fixed steadily on the far wall, Fillmore could only imagine the satisfied smirk of Johnson's face. She was enjoying this far too much.

"As I am sure you are aware, from reading the report I gave Officer Third," Johnson said, "I had an informant working in the sleeper cell which has been orchestrating many of the recent crimes at X. Today, that informant was compromised. I want you to take his place."

At these words, Fillmore's eyes snapped down to meet Adelie's. She handed him a file. "Read this," she said, "It will explain about the groups activities, give you enough information to act like you support their cause." She scrutinised him. "No doubt you're wondering why a group like this would trust you. Simple. Everyone knows you quit the Safety Patrol but only I know the reason why. Popular opinion is that you got sick of being a belt. Cadets here think you did it to join up, an endeavour almost all of them support. Getting them on your side should be easy.

"Go to them, convince them you want to help make a mockery of the Safety Patrol. Pander to their vanities; tell them how confused the Safety Patrol were about the crimes. However, do not mention the M.S.C.C's involvement with the investigation. Nemis will see that for what it is, and if he does no one on this earth can guarantee your safety. Is that clear?"

Fillmore nodded, knuckles creaking as his fingers dug further into his palms. How he hated taking orders from her.

"Good. The group is meeting at 1400 hours in the old locker rooms. Nemis will be there at 1330. Be there. Dismissed."

A muscle jumped in Fillmore's jaw, but he said nothing, merely turning on his heel and marching out the door. As the door slammed shut behind, Johnson's face split into a malicious grin. Everyone in this school was playing right into her hands.

* * *

**A/N: I probably won't be able to update for a while due to school work etc, and committments to my other fics. But I will try not to leave it too long. As always reviews are appreciated.**


	8. Act 8: Always Faithful

**Fillmore!**

**Today's Episode: ****De Oppresso Liber**

**Act 8: Semper Fidelis, Always Faithful**

Stifling a yawn, Ingrid Third, stumbled wearily through the front doors of X Middle School. She had spent a fitful night, tossing and turning in her sleep, her dreams plagued by shadowy figures and indiscernible shapes that kept fading away. Grumpily she readjusted her orange sash. She did not have to be Freud to figure out what those dreams meant. Just as she was turning down the hall, which led to the Safety Patrol HQ, her radio crackled into life. Vallejo's voice sounded from the speaker.

"Third, we need someone to swing by the Student Council Office and pick up the paper work for the bust today. Can you do it?"

Ingrid glanced down at her watch and realised she had plenty of time before class started. "Sure Vallejo, might as well make the detour – nothing else to do this early in the morning."

The junior commissioner chuckled at the wry sense of humour. "Thanks Third, drop them off at HQ once you have them alright?"

"No problem Vallejo, Ingrid out." Stuffing the radio back into her bag, Ingrid did a u-turn and headed off down the opposite hall. She rarely went to the Student Council Office – she tried to avoid representative Peabody at all costs – but she knew the way well enough. Having a photographic memory of the school's blue prints really did help one's navigation skills.

Stifling yet another jaw-wrenching yawn, Ingrid ran her fingers over the badge hidden in her pocket. It was quickly becoming a habit, the contours of the badge now as familiar to her as her own skin. She watched idly as the grey linoleum floors of X Middle School passed swiftly beneath her feet. As she stood before the door to the Student Council Office, Ingrid felt a jolt of electricity race up her spine. Raising her head, she scanned the immediate area. Her eyes ran carelessly over the anonymous faces of X's student body, each as undistinguished as the last, until his eyes found hers. A gasp tour its way out from Ingrid's throat as jade green met deep brown. Startled, she found she could not move, her mind too paralysed to tell her legs to move.

He had changed. He stood straighter, looked taller. A gaggle of sixth graders obscured his lower body, but his face was clear. It was still his face. The same contours, the same lines; the face she knew as well as her own. His eyes continued to hold hers and Ingrid saw an emotion there – something she could not define. The sixth graders moved, and she saw he was wearing a uniform. On the right, upper sleeve the letters M.S.C.C were emblazoned over an embroidered shield.

She made a sudden movement, a jolt, which seemed to herald an attempt to walk towards him, the opening of the Student Council door, stalled her. The pain of the wood connecting sharply with her back, broke the spell and in the moment it took her to regain her footing, he was gone.

Lost in a trance, Ingrid silently made her way into the Student Council Office, collecting the papers with the least amount of words possible, before beating a hasty retreat.

Clutching the papers tightly in her hand, Ingrid made her way back to HQ. Her mind was a whirl of emotion, one she continually tried to force back, desperate not to think for at least one moment.

She shoved the arrest papers at a startled junior commissioner before speeding away to her first class; the room was empty with not even the teacher present. Choosing a seat in a corner of the room hidden from the door, Ingrid fell into the chair. Her heart was racing as she tried to process what she had just seen. Fillmore, in the uniform of the M.S.C.C?

Unconsciously, she began to shake her head, her emotions fighting to deny what her mind was telling her. Not only had Fillmore left the Safety Patrol, but he had joined the M.S.C.C. He had chosen Johnson over her.

Closing her eyes, Ingrid laid her head on the desk, and wept.

* * *

The hours trickled by, and Fillmore growled in frustration when he realised that there was still an hour to go before the rendezvous. Never one to dampen his emotions, Fillmore slapped the nearest wall open-handed, in an attempt to vent some of his anger. 

He was too keyed up, he needed to calm down. His assignment would be blown if he could not get a handle on his emotions. Breathing heavily, he forced himself to calm down, casting his mind back to calmer times. Feeling moderately more in control, Fillmore slumped down in the corner between to buildings, resting his head in his hands.

His mind flickered back over what he had seen this morning and his hands unconsciously balled into fists. Ingrid's face floated before his mind's eye. The lost look on her face haunted him. Ingrid was always decisive, always clear – the expression seemed alien on her face. Shaking his head, Fillmore sighed. Should he talk to Ingrid? Yes. Could he talk to Ingrid? No. He blinked, why not? Because Johnson – he stopped. Would exactly _could_ Johnson do, if all he did were talk to his old partner. Johnson had stated very specifically that Ingrid was only at risk if he tried to break away from the M.S.C.C – talking to her did not count, did it? It was not as though he had been _forbidden_ contact with the outside world – well, at least not in so many words. Again, he sighed, frustration, confusion, and weariness evident in that one action. Yes, technically he could talk to Ingrid without breaking any rules. But, could he risk it? What was to stop Johnson hurting Ingrid out of spite? He sighed. He knew he had to talk to Ingrid; he just had to figure out how.

Glancing at his watch, Fillmore swore. He had ten minutes before he was supposed to meet Nemis. Jumping to his feet, Fillmore ran towards the old locker rooms.

* * *

The old locker rooms were out buildings of the old swimming pool. Damp, isolated and slated for demolition in the next semester, they were avoided by even X's most hardened criminals (mainly because of the smell). 

Leaning against a mildew-ridden wall, Fillmore stared expectantly at the half open doorway. Half hidden in shadows, his dusky skin allowed him to blend easily with the shaded building. One minute to show time. Just as Fillmore's watch struck the half hour, a boy walked into the locker rooms. Taller than Fillmore, the boy was fair skinned and wiry. Light-brown hair fell just below his eyebrows; his eyes were lost to the subsequent shadows. He had the look of a boy who spent more time typing away at a computer screen than he did in the outside world, but there was a hardness to him, an edge that Fillmore was quickly becoming to associate with all members of the M.S.C.C

Looking up, the boy's eyes went wide for a moment, before his hands clenched into fists and he whipped an asp from the back pocket of his uniform. Hurriedly, Fillmore pushed himself off the wall, letting the light fall on the gold thread of the bar, that marked him as a second lieutenant of the Middle School Cadet Corps. He watched, as the tension drained from Nemis' shoulder blades, and the collapsible truncheon was returned to the pocket it had come from. Following the other boy's movements, Fillmore fought to keep a straight face. He trusted that no Middle School-er would be carrying a gun, but that the M.S.C.C were using weapons at all, worried him.

* * *

Walking slowly forward, Nemis constructed a quick profile of the cadet standing in front of him. It was obvious that dark-skinned boy was newly recruited, he still held himself uncomfortably inside the uniform, obviously not used to the course fabric or its weight. Interestingly, he also wore the garments with a hint of disdain. There was stubbornness to his stance, and purpose in his face. And a hint of recklessness that Nemis found intriguing in a cadet. Stopping two feet away, he folded his arms over his chest. 

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

* * *

Nemis' voice was soft, friendly. The type of voice trusted by girls walking home on a dark night. Fillmore wondered briefly how many times he had used that voice to his advantage. 

"I got a proposition for you man." Fillmore said, catching Nemis' eye and holding it. "I heard, you was looking for people to run the underground for you. Maybe I can help, I used to be fairly plugged into that scene."

Nemis eyed him suspiciously, "Who are you?"

Fillmore laughed, a crooked smile, twisting his lips. "Cornelius Fillmore." Nemis' eyebrows shot towards his hairlines at the sound of his name and a look of incredulity passed across his face.

"I heard you went straight, joined the Safety Patrol."

Fillmore indicated the uniform he was wearing. "I quit." He waved his hand in a vague gesture. "Man the Safety Patrol is whack. They have so many chances to bend the rules, and they just let them slide. No one sees the opportunities being offered them. I joined up hoping to play both sides of the system, but there weren't no chance of that. I'd rather be here any day. I'm a thief, Nemis, and I always will be." With each word that came out of his mouth, Fillmore felt nausea threatening to climb up his throat. He fought the bile back with an effort of will, working hard to appear the delinquent Nemis wanted him to be. His words seemed to satisfy Nemis as the other boy's suspicion twisted into a cruel smile.

"Well then," he said laughter tingeing his voice, "you've come to the right place, _lieutenant_."

* * *

"Officer Third, can I speak with you?" Ingrid looked up from her examination of her walkie-talkie at the sound of the voice. Seeing who the speaker was, she detached herself from the gaggle of Safety Patrollers, gearing up for the bust, and walked over to where Johnson was standing.

* * *

Suppressing the urge to sigh, Johnson worked on making sure her mask of sincerity stayed in place. As Ingrid closed the gap between them, she forced her throat to constrict, making her voice sound as though she were on the verge of tears. 

"Officer Third, I won't be joining the arrest." She smirked inwardly, as Ingrid seemed taken aback by how emotional she sounded.

Her voice was soft when she asked, "Why not?"

Forcing her lips to tremble, Johnson took a 'steadying' breath before she answered the question. "Matt and I … Matt and I, we were good friends Officer Third, best friends. We had a bond, you know. I can't go in there today, and not trust myself to let my emotions get in the way. He betrayed me, betrayed everything we stand for, but I still care about him?" She looked Ingrid straight in the eye. "You can understand that, can't you Officer Third?"

Ingrid nodded slowly, a frown marring her features. "Yes, I can." She looked over her shoulder at the Safety Patrollers, "I'll let Vallejo know you won't be there."

Johnson smiled her thanks. "Thank you Officer Third. I appreciate it." She turned to go, but spun back as though she had just remembered something. "Be advised, that Cornelius Fillmore will be there when you make the bust. My operative pulled out at the last moment and I needed someone to help steer the conversation in an incriminating direction. Fillmore offered to stand in for me." Johnson looked down, a blush flaring over her cheeks, raising her eyes, she held Ingrid's gaze. "He's always been so good to me."

* * *

Ingrid nodded jerkily in reply, her jaw clenching into knots as she watched Adelie Johnson walk away.

* * *

The young cadet, rolled her eyes as she left Ingrid Third behind. Playing nice always made her feel vaguely sick.

* * *

Ingrid crouched next to Vallejo at the entrance to the old locker rooms. Tehama and Anza had the back exit covered; O'Farrell and the blonde girl from K-Block covered the side. The rest of the Safety Patrol were scattered throughout the surrounding area, ready to take down any of Nemis' group who escaped. 

Ingrid had informed Vallejo of Fillmore's presence, and the Safety Patrol had orders to make any arrest look good, but to let him 'get away' if at all possible. Leaning closer towards the gap between the open door and the frame, Ingrid listened to what filtered through.

* * *

"Dude, that has got to be the lamest idea I've ever heard." Fillmore's voice cut across, the arguments of the other boys in the room. Noticing he had their attention, he continued. "Right now, you guys are one of the most powerful criminal groups in X Middle School. You're holding kids gambling debts, running slingshot trades, you're dealing in counterfeit and stolen property, you've idolised for having evaded the Safety Patrol for this long, and you're thinking of backing off? Why?" 

Nemis frowned at him, "We're waiting for a final investor, you might say. Someone who can work from the inside to shift heat away from us. I believe he is an old acquaintance of yours: Spencer Denode? As Student Council Secretary, Denode is in a position to make our jobs considerably easier. We're just waiting for him to come around – to see things our way."

Fillmore nodded, "Spencer and I were tight back in the day. If it's his help your after, I can swing it for you."

"Excellent," Nemis said, "and if for any reason Lieutenant, that he is resistant to your reasoning, feel free to persuade him with force."

* * *

"That's it, I've heard enough." Vallejo said, "We have enough evidence on tape to get them on theft, evading arrest, gambling, and dealing contraband substances. Now we've got them on intimidation too." He clicked his radio, "Okay people, let's move in." 

Everywhere around the old locker rooms, Safety Patrollers sprang into action. Ingrid and Vallejo slammed in through the main entrance, at the same time that Joseph and Karen entered through the back.

Cries of "Freeze, X Middle School Safety Patrol." Mingled together and echoed off the tiled walls.

* * *

Chaos erupted. The cadets in the middle of the room were far from willing to go quietly. Rushing the Safety Patrollers all at once, the X Middle School Cadets landed blow after blow in an attempt to reach the exits. 

Fillmore ran straight for Ingrid, feigning a punch to her mid-section, which caused her to jump out the way. For a split second, the exit to the locker rooms was clear. Fillmore took it, leaping over a kneeling Vallejo, and sprinting away towards the school. Behind him, he heard the familiar sound of Ingrid's combat boots hitting the ground.

The pair ran, on and on, Fillmore leading them away from the main school buildings and towards the Gardening Club's 'splendid oak' centennial forest.

* * *

Eventually, the pair reached a clearing in the forest, where dappled light fell through the leaves in waves. Fillmore stopped, panting slightly as he turned to face Ingrid. 

Her face was flushed, the exertion of running lending a light blush to her cheeks. Her hair was slightly tousled from the rush and her eyes sparkled with the adrenaline of the chase. Fillmore felt something his chest, constrict uncomfortably as he saw her eyes darken as she gazed at him. The thought flashed through his mind, that all he seemed to do these days was disappoint her. Something flickered across her face: a look of expectation, hope perhaps. When he did not say anything, her face fell again.

Just as she was about to go, he called out to her. "Ingrid, wait."

She stopped, half-turned away from him, looking back the way she had just come. Slowly, she twisted round to face him. Her face the calm, blank, dispassionate mask she had worn when she first met him.

Sighing, Fillmore walked towards his partner. "Ingrid, you have got to listen to me. I know you don't get why I quit the Safety Patrol, but it was for a good reason."

Ingrid smiled, a jerky jump of the lips, which quickly faded. "It's okay Fillmore," she said, "I get it. You did it for Johnson. You like her. It's cool."

Fillmore's eyes went wide, and he grabbed Ingrid as she went to turn away. "No." he shouted. At her shocked look, he lowered his voice, but he did not let go. "Ingrid, I did this _because_ of Johnson, not _for_ her. I can't stand that girl. Look, I got some things I need to take care of – but the second they're done, I'm out of the M.S.C.C and its back to being you and me. Back to the Safety Patrol, if Vallejo will let me." Seeing she was not entirely convinced, Fillmore continued. "I'm with you Ingrid, all the way."

Ingrid searched Fillmore's face; desperate to believe he was telling the truth. Eventually she nodded. Her face relaxing as she felt a weight lift from her shoulders.

"Promise?" The word slipped out before she could stop it. Tensing, Ingrid waited for the laughter, the declaration that it was all a joke, that he had chosen Johnson over her – over their friendship – after all.

Instead, warm, brown arms wrapped around her, and she was drawn against a body that smelt comfortingly of cedar wood and black pepper. Inhaling the familiar scent, Ingrid wrapped her arms around Fillmore's waist, listening to his heartbeat beneath his chest.

"Always," he murmured, "Always."

* * *


	9. Act 9: The Task Is Ours

**Fillmore!**

**Today's Episode: ****De Oppresso Liber**

**Act 9: Nostrum Est Opus – The Task Is Ours**

Fillmore pushed open the door to the gardener's shed, the last remnants of a smile lingering on his face. He could still smell the soft hint of jasmine that was Third's washing powder, clinging to his clothes from where she had hugged him. The sensation was new, though not at all unwelcome.

He was brought rudely from his thoughts, by the sound of the trapdoor opening. He looked up to see Adelie Johnson standing on the ladder that led down into the M.S.C.C., head and shoulders above ground.

"Where have you been? I was expecting you back ages ago." Her voice was cold and hard, the look in her eyes was calculating.

Fillmore frowned, "I had some business to take care of. Not that it concerns you."

Johnson's smile was cold as she gestured for him to come towards her. "Oh but it does concern me Fillmore. Especially, if you were with that attractive ex-partner of yours. It would be shame if anything were to happen to that pretty face."

Fillmore felt his blood run cold at the other cadet's words. Johnson had issued threats before, but none so obvious or as violent as this.

Satisfied that she once again had his full compliance, Johnson climbed down several rungs on the ladder, calling up to Fillmore once her head was below ground.

"Hurry up Cadet, I have an assignment for you."

* * *

Ingrid walked quietly into HQ, still contemplating Fillmore's words to her in the forest. A soft smile graced her lips as she remembered the feeling of his arms wrapped around her, the warmth she'd felt when she'd held him. 

Lost in her own thoughts, she failed to notice the familiar face in the room until she heard the voice.

"Please you have to believe me, Nemis wasn't the one planning this, you've got it all wrong, it was Johnson – she's behind all this."

Ingrid looked up, eyes wide. "Sarah?" utterly confused, Ingrid watching in astonishment as Vallejo removed a set of cuffs from his pocket and proceeded to mirandise Sarah.

"Sarah Marrows, you are hereby under arrest on suspicion of conspiracy to commit robbery, obstruction of justice, and for the attempted aiding and abetting on known criminal. You have the right to remain silent until your parents are present. Anything you do say can and will be used against you."

"No you don't understand – it's the truth." Sarah cried, struggling to turn and look Vallejo in the face.

"Nice try." Anza smirked. "We did some digging on you Ms Marrows and we found out some rather interesting information about you and a Mr Christopher Stabler – who, coincidently, just happens to have been arrested in connection to a spate of robberies as part of a cancer cell in the M.S.C.C. Apparently you and Stabler were going steady until a while ago…are you sure you weren't trying to just get your ex-bf off the hook."

"Yes. Please, I had no idea Chris was M.S.C.C. I dumped him because he was cheating on me. Why would I try to help him?" The young reporter wailed.

Anza snorted. "Pretty convenient, that the moment he get arrested, you come here with information with takes most of the blame of Nemis and proportionally diminishing the responsibility and also the punishment of your ex-boyfriend. Pull the other one."

"But I'm telling the truth." Sarah yelled at him as she was escorted to one of the holding rooms.

Ingrid walked swiftly over to Vallejo. "What's going on?" she asked.

"Two minutes ago, Ms Marrows here walked into this Office claiming to have evidence which, whilst not exonerating, Nemis certainly lessens his responsibility in this whole affair."

"SO what do we do now?" Ingrid inquired.

Vallejo sighed. "At the moment nothing. Folsom's ordered us to bring all the perps, and anyone connected to the case before Student Council. Immediately."

* * *

The Student Council Court Room was large and spacious. Fashioned much as a regular court of law would be. Those on trial sat in the front bench, whilst the Safety Patrol sat beside them and the Student Council sat in the 'jury box' to the left and right. Folsom sat on a dais above them all, looking down at them with a mixture of frustration and disappointment. 

"Before we begin," Folsom said, "I would like to hear just what Miss Marrows has to say. If she thinks that her story is pertinent, we might as well hear it before making any decisions on this matter. Miss Marrows, if you please."

Sarah nodded slightly shakily, visibly intimidating by the Principal. "Yes Ma'am." She gulped and took a deep steadying breath. "After I spoke to Officer Third the other day, I did some digging on Nemis, Mendez and Johnson. I located a source who knew about all three individual's history. My source told me that Nemis and Mendez used to run a small crime ring here at X – forging parental signatures mainly - they were trying to branch out, hit it big in the crime rings, but it wasn't working so well. Then, Nemis starts talking about this girl he's met – raves about her, says he'd do anything for her. So when she asks him to join the M.S.C.C he agrees."

"Did your source tell you who this girl was Miss Marrows?"

"Yes, Principal Folsom. The girl was Adelie Johnson." Ingrid's forehead creased in a frown, as bits and pieces of the last few days' events started to group together in her mind. "When Matt Nemis joined the M.S.C.C, he left Greg Mendez and their crime ring behind, causing it to fall apart. Greg was furious, and jealous that Nemis and been offered greater opportunities whilst he had been left out in the cold. My source told me that he tried to get even by bringing down the M.S.C.C. – writing an article to expose them, which Johnson squashes. The thing is Principal Folsom, what my source failed to realise is that Greg Mendez was not working against Adelie Johnson … he was working with her."

Murmurs and whispered comments broke out across the courtroom at those words causing Folsom to yell for quiet. Once it had been achieved she addressed Sarah again

"Why would you say such a thing Miss Marrows?"

"Because Principal, six months ago, Adelie Johnson became Greg Mendez's step-sister."

This time, the young freelance reporter's statement was greeted with dead silence. Folsom leaned forward to peer down at the young girl.

"That's impossible Miss Marrows." She said.

"No Ma'am, it's not." There was a collected intake of breath as all those present waited for the inevitable fallout that came from correcting the principal.

"Oh?" One blonde eyebrow arched on Folsom's face, and her voice was icy.

"Six months ago, Adelie Johnson's mother married Greg Mendez's father, but Adelie chose to keep her father's name, and whilst Greg continue to live with his mother, he also kept his father's name. Legally, there was no need to them to declare their new found 'sibling status' to the school, as they're not blood related, and as Johnson didn't change her name to Mendez, there was nothing to link to the two of them together. Subsequently, their relationship did not appear on any school record.

"I see, well I need time to review this new information, and the Safety Patrol needs to determine its veracity. We'll reconvene tomorrow. Dismissed."

* * *

"Officer Third, Officer Third." 

Ingrid stopped and turned; looking for the voice she heard calling her. She located its source quickly, as a girl with auburn hair waved quickly and jogged over to her.

"Can I help you?" Ingrid asked looking the girl up and down, taking in the immaculate appearance. She couldn't help thinking that the girl reminded her vaguely of Johnson.

The girl nodded, "My names Bridget O'Conner. I need to talk to you?"

Ingrid frowned, "About what?"

O'Conner shook her head. "Not here. Come on" The red head dragged Ingrid quickly down a corridor and ducked into the first empty classroom she came across.

Ingrid backed across the room, slightly ruffled, in an attempt to give herself room to manoeuvre. She knew distancing herself from the door wasn't the smartest thing to do, but the other girl was strong, and Ingrid wanted to put space between them before they had this 'talk'

"You wanted to talk," Ingrid said, "so talk"

Bridget nodded, and ran a hand through her hair. "As I said my name is Bridget O'Conner, I'm captain of the Track and Field team, I sit on the Student Council and," here she pause and seemed to be stealing herself for something, "I am also a member of the M.S.C.C. Now it's not what you think," She cried as Ingrid stiffened in response to her words. "I'm not Johnson, I despise her. She's treacherous and she plays games with peoples lives." Bridget took a deep breath. "Look Officer Third, I'm not trying to make friends here, but I am trying to tell you that you've arrested the wrong girl. It should have been Adelie Johnson standing at that hearing today not Sarah Marrows."

"Oh?" Ingrid asked, raising one eyebrow, "and I suppose you have some proof to back that story up?"

"Yes I do. I would have said something earlier but I was afraid what I had wouldn't be enough on its own. That reporter's story provided enough evidence for me to come see you. You're detectives said that _Johnson_ provided the evidence for Nemis' arrest – that he had been running this big crime ring all by himself. That doesn't make any sense. Johnson and Nemis were _partners_."

Ingrid frowned, "So? She said that in her report. She worked closely with Nemis first because it was assigned, and then later so she could keep track of his activities. She also mentioned they were friends. She didn't accompany the Safety Patrol on the bust because she said she couldn't trust herself not to let her emotions get in the way. "

O'Conner snorted derisively, "Yeah right. For starters, Adelie Johnson has never let her personal feelings cloud any of her judgements. And, second of all, Adelie Johnson and Matt Nemis were not just friends - they were … involved."

"Romantically?" Ingrid asked.

O'Conner huffed. "Romantic on his part, sure. As for Adelie? Well let me put it this way. If you hit her on the chest all you would hear is rolling echo."

Ingrid smirked at the Wizard of Oz reference. "The Tin Man forgot to put in her heart?"

O'Conner nodded. "Exactly. Anyway the point is, that Nemis was infatuated with Adelie, practically worshipped the ground she walked on. He did _nothing_ without her say so. They may have been partners, but Johnson was definitely the dominant personality in that relationship."

Ingrid sighed, "What are you trying to say O'Conner?"

"I'm saying, that no way does Nemis organise a criminal venture all by himself. If that boy has done anything, Johnson was the mastermind."

Ingrid's eyes went wide. "Crackers" she said. "She wasn't worried about her emotions getting in the way at all, she was worried that Nemis would rat on her if he saw her at the bust. But she knew that as long as he thought she was free, he would lie to protect her."

"Bingo" Bridget said grimly.

Ingrid shook her head in worry. "We have to tell the Safety Patrol."

* * *

Ingrid banged through the door to HQ, eyes scouring the area for Vallejo. After a few more minutes of conversation and more than a few uncomfortable questions on Bridget's part, O'Conner had gone ahead to try and find Fillmore at M.S.C.C. HQ. Both girls knew that the young African-American would want to be in on it when they brought Johnson in. 

Seeing the junior commissioner exiting his office, Ingrid grabbed him, turning him around and pulling him back into the office he had just vacated.

"Third? What in the ---?" Vallejo asked as he stared at the best female detective on the force.

"Sarah is innocent. Johnson is dirty. I just got corroboration from another source?" Ingrid said.

"Third are you sure about this?" Vallejo questioned, raising one hand to scratch his head. "I mean at the moment all this amounts to is 'he said – she said', all evidence is circumstantial. We're working on getting hard facts to back up Marrows' story but until that happens, there's not a lot we can do."

"Vallejo we have to do something. Fillmore said he had something to sort out, that he would get out of the M.S.C.C. as soon as it was done and I ---"

"Whoa,whoa,whoa." Vallejo interrupted. "Fillmore and the M.S.C.C.? Is there something you're not telling me Third?"

"Fillmore joined the M.S.C.C. after he quit the Safety Patrol, Vallejo, but I'm starting to think Johnson had something to do with it. He said there was something he had to take care of. We need to help him. What if he knew Johnson was dirty and was trying to take her down from the inside?" Seeing the junior commissioners face she hurried on. "I know it's a long shot and I know I have no evidence to support that, but think about it Vallejo. Fillmore wouldn't just leave us for no reason. He had to have known something."

Vallejo sighed. "Maybe he did, and maybe he didn't Third, but I can't expend time and manpower chasing after something which, for all intents and purposes was an Officer's personal decision to leave the force. I'm sorry."

Ingrid stared. "Vallejo you can't be serious. This is Fillmore we're talking about. I mean---"

"No, Ingrid." Vallejo said, "That's final. No."

Jade eyes met brown with such fury, that the older detective looked away in shame. The slamming of the door signalled Ingrid departure from the room.

* * *

Starting to sweat a little, Bridget O'Conner turned yet another corner in the M.S.C.C. None of the cadet's she'd questioned had seen Fillmore at all, but more to the point none of them had seen Adelie either. Bridget was starting to worry as to what that could mean. 

Coming to a closed door, she didn't bother knocking, instead throwing the handle and pushing the door open with all her force. The door bounced off the wall, revealing a rather startled looking Cornelius Fillmore bent over a desk, examining a schematic.

"You okay O'Conner?" He asked, one eyebrow cocked in inquiry.

"I spoke with your partner, Ingrid. We've got circumstantial evidence against Johnson, enough to bring her in for questioning. We're hoping that if we can show Nemis that Johnson doesn't really care for him, that he'll turn on her and give us the confession we need."

Fillmore frowned, "It's a long shot."

"I know," Bridget said, "Which is where your pretty detective friend comes in. Once she's managed to scalp some surveillance listening devices from the AV room, she's going to go find Johnson, see if she cant catch her stating outright that she was just using Nemis."

Fillmore shoulders tensed. "She's going to what?" Bridget took a step back at the intensity of emotion in his voice. He sounded near panic. Before Bridget had a change to speak, Fillmore was moving past her and dashing down the corridors of the M.S.C.C. After a moment's time spent blinking at empty space, O'Conner turned and rushed after him, just in time to see him throw himself up an access shaft which led into the middle of Maize Maze.

Blinking in the sudden sunlight, Bridget O'Conner, panted slightly as she lengthened her stride in an attempt to keep up with Cornelius Fillmore. The African-American boy was racing through the Maze, and for all her track experience, Bridget still found herself lagging slightly behind.

Forcing her legs to move that little bit faster, Bridget drew level with Fillmore; close enough now that their voices would not be lost to the wind. "Why the rush? Surely the Ingrid can handle herself?"

Fillmore nodded, barely sparing a glance for the cadet running along side him. His main priority now was Ingrid. "Johnson threatened me with Ingrid's safety to make sure I joined the M.S.C.C. If Johnson finds out that we know she's behind all this, she might try to punish Ingrid for it. I _can't _let that happen."

Taking in the determined look of Fillmore's face, Bridget did not fail to miss the undercurrent of fear that was plaguing his features.

"It's a weakness, you know." She panted, as the pair shot through the exit to the Maze.

"What is?" Fillmore asked, his breathing only slightly uneven as he tried to talk and run and the same time.

"Caring for someone. You and Third – you're each other's weaknesses. Third's the reason Johnson trapped you in the M.S.C.C. and I'll bet you anything, Johnson was hoping to exploit her feelings for you in order to keep the Safety Patrol away from the M.S.C.C."

Slowing his pace slightly, Cornelius Fillmore looked over at the cadet running beside him. "What feelings? You're talking like there's something going on between me and Third. We're friend's, partner's that's it." _Well that's all I am to her_, he added in his head.

Bridget shook her head. "Nonsense. That may be what you're both telling yourselves but you as good as admitted, when you showed me that photo that she's more than a friend to you. And she said the same thing to me today."

Fillmore skidded to a halt and stuck out one arm, yanking O'Conner round to face him. "Wait. What did she say?"

Bridget shook her head, letting the boy know that it wasn't her place to say. As they once again sped towards the buildings of X Middle School, Ingrid Third's words played over and over in her mind. _"I care about him … a lot more than I'm supposed to."_

* * *

Scowling to herself and chewing on her lower lip, Ingrid Third paced back and forth along a corridor in the basement that was directly beneath the school's ice rink. The smell of coolant and old gym clothes was over powering but Ingrid was too preoccupied to notice. 

Guilt gnawed at her as she reviewed how she had set up this meeting. She had hacked into Vallejo's personal files, knowing that he would have stored the number Johnson gave him under sources only he had access to. It was a breach of her junior commissioner's trust, which ate at the young genius. But she convinced herself it was for the right reasons. At least it would be if everything turned out as planned.

A sound from behind caused Ingrid to whirl around, arms coming up in a defensive pose, until she realised that the person who had caused to the disturbance was actually a few feet away. In the dim, half-light of the basement, Adelie Johnson's hair was muted to near-black, her dark clothing lost to the shadows, and only her pale skin signalling her presence at all.

"I must say, Officer Third, I'm rather surprised by your choice of location." Johnson's soft, mocking voice cut through the silence. Echoing slightly off the damp, stone walls.

Ingrid fidgeted slightly, unnerved by the other girls unwavering calm. She'd practically threatened Johnson to get her to come down here, but the cadet standing before her seemed entirely unfazed by it all. Realising that she had been silent for too long, Ingrid spoke.

"I wanted to make sure no one overheard this. Everyone on the Safety Patrol thinks you're a hero." This was not entirely true, whilst the Safety Patrol were grateful for Johnson's aid in the arrest, the debacle at Student Council had cast doubt in people's minds.

Adelie chuckled, moving towards Ingrid and further into the light. "A hero? Me? Do tell." There was something pleased, self-satisfied and vaguely amused in her tone. As though Ingrid had just told her a joke, only for it to be one that Johnson had invented.

"You're the one who gave us the information to bust X's latest crime ring. The streets are safe, Folsom's happy; the Safety Patrol is singing your praises." Silently Ingrid thanked years of delinquency and under cover jobs that her voice did not waver as she told the lie. She sounded sincere, albeit bitter.

"But not you." Johnson said. She had picked up on the resentment in Ingrid's tone when she added the last – there was at least one Patroller not handing her laurels.

"No," Ingrid admitted, "I don't trust you. It was all too," she paused searching for a plausible word, "perfect, I suppose. You turn up, give us just the right amount of evidence we need for an arrest. At the same time that Fillmore quits the Safety Patrol and then turns up wearing the uniform of the M.S.C.C.?" Ingrid winced as she realised that her voice had unconsciously risen with her last few words. Kicking herself, she hoped Johnson hadn't picked up on her obviously emotional response to Fillmore's leaving.

To her surprise, far from mocking Ingrid's attachment to Fillmore, Johnson froze. "He talked to you, did he? I wasn't aware you knew he was M.S.C.C." Her voice was forcibly calm, but there was an undercurrent of anger Ingrid was unused to hearing in her voice.

"Yes," she said, taking one step closer to Johnson, "and he told me why he joined. He told me everything," her voice was rising with every word until she was almost yelling at Johnson, her voice reverberating off the walls, "he told me he joined because of _you_." The moment the words had left her mouth, Ingrid knew it had been the wrong thing to say. Even in the half-darkness, Ingrid saw the other girl's face go white, her mouth thinning with anger and two spots of colour flaming high on her cheeks. Adelie Johnson was livid.

"How unfortunate for you Officer Third." Ingrid gulped, taking a step back from the advancing cadet. Johnson's voice was perfectly calm, though her face was a mask of fury. Ingrid knew from experience that only the most dangerous criminals could still have a reasonable conversation when they were this angry. Reluctant to turn her back on an enemy whose training she could only guess at, Ingrid hastily stumbled back a few more paces, groping blindly behind her for anything she could throw at Johnson long enough to make her escape.

Feeling her hand connect with something cylindrical and cold, Ingrid made the mistake of glancing back to see what it was. In the moment, Johnson pounced, toppling them both to the floor and knocking the breath from Ingrid's lungs. Luckily for Ingrid, her head impacted on Johnson's arm where it lay pinned beneath her rather than the stone floor.

"I warned him," Johnson hissed, breath warm and moist against Ingrid's cheek. "I warned him what would happen to you if he talked." She laughed darkly, one hand snaking around to press into the side of Ingrid's neck. "I guess dear Fillmore, doesn't care about you as much as I had guessed. Oh well, he still has a lesson to learn."

Ingrid struggled against the weight of the other girl pinning her as she felt two fingers press into a point on her neck. The two fingers retracted for a moment, before jabbing back in with full force. Ingrid's world went black.

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A/N: I apologise for how long this took to update. I actually had the chapter written ages ago, then I reread it and realised it was dreadful so I had to rewrite it which took longer than I expected. The next chapter should be up relatively soon. As always criticism and reviews are highly appreciated. 


	10. Act 10: United We Stand

**A/N: If anyone feels the rating of this piece should increase please PM me or review.**

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**Fillmore!**

**Today's Episode: De Oppresso Liber**

**Act 10: Conjuncti Stamus – United We Stand**

Fillmore skidded to a halt in front of the big double door's that served as the south entrance to the school. Turning to look at the cadet beside him, he braced his arms on his sides as he tried to get his breath back. Bridget was bent over, sucking oxygen back into her lungs. She glared up at him through her lashes as she tried to regulate her breathing.

Not waiting for her to recover, Fillmore spoke. "How do we find out where Third went. If she's with Johnson we can't risk wasting time searching all around the school."

"She said she'd leave a note stating the agreed location for the meeting in your locker." At Fillmore's raised eyebrow, she shrugged. "She knew I'd have you with me, and we were hardly going to exchange locker combinations after less than 20 minutes acquaintance."

Nodding at the logic, Fillmore pushed open the doors to the school. Heading swiftly towards his locker, Fillmore kept an eye out for any members of the Safety Patrol that might be walking the halls. It would waste too much time explaining why he was wearing the uniform of the M.S.C.C. should any of them see him and ask. Reaching his locker, Fillmore quickly spun the dial, yanking the door open as the tumblers fell into place. Snatching a slip of white paper from where it lay balanced on his books, Fillmore hastily flipped it open and read it, his eyes quickly scanning to two lines of text written in Ingrid's precise handwriting.

"She's meeting Johnson in the basement, beneath the ice arena." He slammed the locker shut and turned to face Bridget. "Let's go."

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Blinking sluggishly, Ingrid shook her in an attempt to clear the fuzzy feeling that was crowding her brain. The side of her neck felt slightly bruised and her mouth was dry. Moving to try and rub away the aching in her neck, Ingrid realised her hands were fastened securely behind her back. 

Adrenaline rapidly coursed through her system, chasing away the last of her disorientation. Fighting to remain calm, Ingrid took stock of her situation. She was upright, relatively balanced, kneeling on a cold, damp floor and the smell of chlorine was in the air. Her legs were folded underneath her, and the heels of her combat boots were digging into her haunches. A rope ran from the bindings on her wrists down to those around her ankles, preventing her from attempting to stand up. Though reasonable enough now, the position threatened to become highly uncomfortable. The short length of the connecting rope, pulled her shoulders back, forcing Ingrid to sit ramrod straight.

Looking around, Ingrid fought to make out shapes within the shadows. A pool of light, from a naked light bulb overhead, illuminated her position but the rest of the room was dark. A corner of her mind not occupied in assessing the situation, noted how very cliché the setting was.

The sinister chuckle that emanated from the shadows, simply added to the classic B-Movie effect.

The humour of the situation quickly disappeared as Adelie Johnson stepped out of the shadows. She was still smiling. Ingrid's blood ran cold.

Bridget looked around in frustration, before turning back to Fillmore, arms thrown up despair. "She's not here."

Fillmore frowned, but did not reply, focusing his attention on the floor as he swept his flashlight back and forth across it. His gut told him Ingrid had made it to the meeting, but something had gone wrong. Johnson was a nasty piece of work; maybe she couldn't pass up the opportunity to get at him by hurting Ingrid. Fillmore's stomach turned over at the thought. He doubted Johnson would do any lasting physical damage, she knew that sort of thing could land her in a Juvenile Detention Facility rather than detention, but he you can hurt people in ways that don't leave any proof. And without physical evidence it would only be hearsay, the worst she would get would be detention for bullying.

Sighing, Fillmore almost missed the slight scuffmarks on the floor. Kneeling down, he tilted his flashlight to illuminate the rest of the passageway. The marks continued for as far as he could see. Standing up he stood, feet shoulder width apart, and looked down. The scuffmarks appeared just inside his stance. Ingrid was narrower than he was, it made sense.

Looking up, he called over to Bridget. "Hey O'Conner. How strong is Johnson?"

The redhead frowned and walked over to him, crossing her arms across her chest. "About as strong as I am. Why?"

"Could you carry Ingrid's body weight? Full of the ground I mean."

O'Conner shook her head. "No way. You're partner may be light Fillmore, I mean she's a skinny little thing, and I may be stronger than the average girl here at X, but no. I don't have the leverage, I'm not tall enough."

Fillmore nodded; O'Conner had just confirmed his theory. If Bridget couldn't carry Ingrid than neither could Johnson, meaning she would have had to drag the other girl along the floor. Consequently, it stood to reason that they hadn't gone very far. Ingrid was far from heavy, but dragging dead weight is never easy. And he highly doubted Ingrid was conscious if there were scuff marks on the floor.

Shining his light once again on the trail, Fillmore nodded. "Come on. They went this way."

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Watching the brunet cadet pacing before her, Ingrid surreptitiously pulled on her bonds. Johnson hadn't said a word since Ingrid had regained consciousness, but she had paced watching the raven haired Safety Patroller as if she were a specimen at the zoo, or a rare exhibit in a museum. 

Looking the other girl, Ingrid wondered if she could break her silence. Johnson had not frisked her and so she was still wired for recording. She only hoped the portable recorder in her pocket had not been damaged by her fall.

"Why are you doing this?"

Johnson seemed slightly startled by Ingrid's question, but simultaneously pleased by the question. She squatted down so that she was face to face with the captive girl.

"Its quite simple really. The M.S.C.C. depends on the total obedience of its members to the established chain of command. By talking to you about his drafting into this organisation, Fillmore violated a direct order by a superior officer. That kind of infraction incurs certain penalties. You're safety went hand in hand with his good behaviour. If one crumbles, then the other is sacrificed. It's very simple."

"But how is holding me going to teach Fillmore a lesson? It could be days until he realises I'm gone. Are you really going to keep me here that long." Ingrid asked. Though she forcefully kept her voice calm, the truth was she was worried. She needed to know just how much of a threat Johnson posed to her.

Johnson laughed, a slightly maniacle cackle which set Ingrid teeth on edge. "Oh Ingrid, you're priceless, really you are. Days until Fillmore realises your gone? Please. He cares about you far too much for that. No, that boy's been keeping tabs on you ever since I made him quit the Safety Patrol – wanted to know I was keeping my end of the bargain. And besides even if he wasn't, I'm sure O'Conner's told him all about how you were planning to meet me by yourself. He'll be rushing around, right now, trying to find you."

Ingrid's eyes went wide. How could she have been so stupid? "You're working with O'Conner?"

Adelie shook her head. "No," she laughed, "O'Conner hates me far too much for that. I've had people watching her since she transferred to this command. They overheard the two of you talking today, watched her race off to try and find Fillmore for you. It's sweet really, how naïve she still is, to think that she can out manoeuvre me. You may not think that my holding you will affect Fillmore very greatly Officer Third, but imagine the torture he will go through as he frantically tries to find you, the pain his own mind will inflict on him as imagines what could possibly be happening. You see Officer Third, you are his one weakness, the only person in the world Fillmore would do anything to protect. After this, even if there is not a scratch on your body, Fillmore will obey my every word, because he knows that next time it could be far worse."

"You're absolutely delusional. Knocking a fellow student unconscious – a Safety Patroller no less? And then restraining her against her will? Folsom's going to expel you, the police will be called. You're not going to get away with this."

Johnson rolled her eyes, "Oh please, not that over used movie line. For a matter of fact Ingrid, I will get away with this. Do you want to know why? The main reason Officer Third is because you will in no way be, _physically,_ harmed whilst in my 'custody'. Yes I have restrained you, and that may be uncomfortable, but I would hardly call that _harm _now, would you? Kids have tied each other to heated radiators, to boilers no less, and all they've faced is a few days suspension. The worst they could do, is slap me on the wrist and tell me that bullying in frowned on here at X. Play gentle next time, children.

"But you see Officer Third, they are unlikely even to do that, because whilst you may be a Safety Patroller, _I_ am a Major in the Middle School Cadet Corps and the Second in Command of this facility. As far as school politics go I carry _far_ more weight than you do, to the point where Folsom will not even deign to give me a single detention. I am far more valuable to the stability of this school than you will ever be. Remember that."

As Johnson spoke, Ingrid did some very quick thinking. Those high school psychology lectures were finally paying off. Johnson was a narcissist – entirely convinced of her own self-worth and importance. She showed megalomaniac tendencies and a near-psychotic drive to secure power. Play to her ego, and like all true villains she'll confess everything just to ensure that her prey knows how truly powerful she is, and just how helpless and insignificant they are.

"Is that why you risked coming to the Safety Patrol with information about the crime ring? I know it was you who was behind it. What would you have done if Nemis had turned on you, confessed everything and implicated you? Folsom wouldn't have protected you then."

Johnson shook her head, smiling in amusement as the other girl's naivety. "Matthew would never turn on me, he cares about me too much. He would never do anything which might harm his precious Adelie."

Ingrid saw her opportunity. "You were just using him. Pretending to care about him to further your own means. You knew that if he took the fall for the crime rings it would leave you free to step into the vacuum. You would control almost everything in this school. The underground, and everything under the influence of the M.S.C.C."

Johnson nodded eagerly. "Yes. It would give me _total_ control. I would even have an 'in' with the Safety Patrol, either you would divert attention to protect Fillmore, or I'd simply have him run my operations. You would never be able to catch him."

Ingrid smiled sadly. "Fillmore's the best."

"Yes, much better than that fool Nemis. Idiot was only ever good for following orders. Smart, but absolutely no initiative. Made him easy to manipulate though, even if I did have to make goo-goo eyes at him long enough to make myself sick."

"You never felt anything for him?"

Johnson scoffed. "He's beneath me. No one is my equal."

"Oh I don't know," a voice said from the shadows, "I thought I could give you a run for your money."

Ingrid's eyes went wide as she recognised the voice. "Fillmore!"

Johnson whirled only to have her legs swept out from under her by Bridget O'Conner.

Bridget smiled. "I've always wanted to do that." The redhead pinned the other cadet, using a zip-tag to tie her wrists behind her back.

As Bridget hauled a disgruntled looking Adelie to her feet, Fillmore set to work loosening Ingrid's bonds, whilst the jade-eyed girl assured him she was fine.

Bridget looked down at the two Safety Patrollers. "It's a shame we don't have more proof for all this. Nemis is never going to believe that Johnson was using him, he won't turn on her."

Ingrid winced, as Fillmore helped her to stand, one arm wrapped securely around her waist. "I do have proof. Johnson didn't frisk me, I was still wearing the wire whilst we were talking. Provided the tape isn't damaged in any way. I have her confession."

Johnson snarled, "Folsom still won't do anything to me. She's given us immunity. This'll never go on my record."

Bridget clamped a hand over the other girl's mouth, stifling her protests. "Even if Folsom does nothing, which I doubt, I wonder how the Colonel will feel about his Second in Command holding a Safety Patroller hostage. You'll be Court Martial-ed so fast your head won't stop spinning for a week."

Johnson's eyes went wide and she made a muffled sound from behind O'Conner's hand. Nodding to the two Safety Patrollers, O'Conner escorted Johnson out of the room, muttering threats as to what would happen if the delinquent cadet tried to escape.

Once they were out of earshot, Fillmore turned Ingrid slowly around to face him. Looking at her, Fillmore ran his fingertips gently over the bruise that was already forming on her neck. The angry, purplish-blue colour was already tinged with green, signifying that the bruise was deep. Its darkness was accentuated by the paleness of Ingrid's skin.

"Dawg Ingrid, are you sure you're okay?" Fillmore did not even try to keep the worry out of his voice as he visually inspected his partner for other injuries. The skin around her wrists was red from the ropes, but whole, and her boots had protected her ankles from abrasion.

"Honestly Fillmore, I'm fine. She didn't do anything else to me. The point was to scare you, not to harm me, that's all."

"Yeah well it worked." Fillmore said, reluctantly removing his hand from his partner's skin. Part of him wanted to pull her into his arms and not let go. Another part reasoned that his independent partner may not appreciate this. Despite the fact that O'Conner had hinted that Ingrid felt something for him besides friendship, he had no proof. Could he really risk it?

As he debated that last question with himself, Ingrid turned her head, throwing the ugly bruise into sharp relief against the light. That decided him. He knew that in the grand scheme of things what had gone down with Johnson was not life or death. But it was an ugly world out there and a badge and a belt wouldn't protect them forever. His mother had always said that you should seize every chance for happiness you get, as you never know when you'll get another chance. There friendship was strong enough to work through it, if she didn't feel the same.

Watching her as she stood, looking at the way O'Conner and Johnson had left, he carefully planned _exactly_ what he was going to say. "Ingrid…" she turned back towards him and in typical Fillmore fashion he threw all that planning away.

Ingrid barely had a change to register her partners face as she once again faced him, before she felt two lips brush softly over hers. It was over before she'd even registered it had begun and she stood there, eyes wide, staring at her partner.

Fillmore had taken a step back the moment he had stopped kissing Ingrid. Standing there, staring at him, she looked like a deer-in-the-headlights. She raised one hand to her lips and looked at him with a question in her eyes. Slowly, Fillmore smiled, bracing himself for the inevitable brush off.

Instead, he was rewarded with a breath-taking smile. The kind he'd seen Third give only a handful of times. He returned that smile as he felt slender fingers interlink with his.

**The End**

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**A/N:** **I hope this update is rapid enough to make up for serious lag in earlier chapters. This story is now complete, save for the epilogue that has already been posted. If anyone would like to see a sequal let me know and I'll start hashing out a plot. I might write one anyway but it would be nice to know if anyone would actually read it. Thank you for all those who followed the story right the way through during its composition stages. As always reviews and/or criticisms make me happy.**


	11. Epilogue: For Life

**Fillmore!**

**Today's Episode: De Oppresso Liber**

**Epilogue: Pro Vita – For Life**

Ingrid smiled as she settled down against the grass, cushioning her head on her partner's shoulder. Looking up, she traced imaginary patterns in the branches they swayed overhead. She and Fillmore were lying in the clearing they had found together in the centennial forest. Fillmore was a warm weight by her side, and she snuggled further into him as a breeze blew across the clearing.

Glancing down at the head of raven hair settled against his chest, Fillmore smiled. He would have never pegged Third for the type to cuddle up next to her man, but he wasn't complaining. He wrapped one arm more tightly around her waist and drew her to him.

"I heard Johnson got kicked out. Rumour has it that her parents are sending her to a reform school. Even with no criminal record, Folsom refused to give her a reference for any other school after she heard what went down with you." The girl by his side made no answer. "Bridget got made Second in Command of the M.S.C.C. It didn't get disbanded, but Folsom's going to be checking up on it much more frequently."

Rolling over, Ingrid perched her chin on Fillmore's chest, causing him to have to tilt his head to look at her.

"Cornelius, no offence, but I suggested coming out here so we didn't have to deal with work. Don't start talking about it now."

Fillmore chuckled, inviting a smile in response from Ingrid who the flopped back down beside him. "Alright then, what do you want to talk about?"

He felt Ingrid shrug beside him. "Who says we have to talk? We could just lie here staring at the clouds, or," she paused as a wicked idea crossed her mind, "you could tell me the rest of that story you mom was telling me the other night."

Fillmore's eyes went wide. "Ingrid! No!. I'm not telling you any embarrassing stories about my childhood." Ingrid laughed, "I'm just glad I got there in time before she said too much last night." He frowned, "I can't think why she would have told you that story anyway."

Ingrid smiled up at him, "Maybe because I asked?" Seeing her partner's face, she chuckled. "Relax Fillmore, I---"

Unfortunately, the rest of her statement was cut off by the squawk of the radio. "Fillmore, Third, get down here, someone stolen an entire shipment of safety glue."

Fillmore clicked the talk button on his radio. "We're on it."

Ingrid stood and dusted herself off, reaching down a hand to help Fillmore up.

She smirked up at him, eyes sparkling in the sunshine. "Together?"

Fillmore smiled. "Always."

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**A/N:** **I hope this update is rapid enough to make up for serious lag in earlier chapters. This story is now complete. If anyone would like to see a sequal let me know and I'll start hashing out a plot. I might write one anyway but it would be nice to know if anyone would actually read it. Thank you for all those who followed the story right the way through during its composition stages. As always reviews and/or criticisms make me happy.**


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